Prosecutorial Misconduct 1 of 12 in a series
by mccoylover
Summary: As McCoy considers the prospect of becoming DA, he finds himself involved wformer defendant, Samantha Weaver. The ramifications of which include reconnecting with past colleagues such as Fontana, Carmichael, and Ben Stone.Post Corner Office. OC mine.
1. A Interesting & Attractive Man

Jack McCoy had been called many things in his time with the district attorney's office. A good loser was not among them. Particularly on appeal. An overturned jury verdict was a kin to a fowl being declared in sports. A victory snatched away because of a technical error, not because the defendant was any less guilty.

The cool wind felt good as the he skillfully weaved the motorcycle though the Friday evening traffic on the Brooklyn Bridge. The drive out to the island was a distraction from the unsettling news of Samantha Weaver's release. McCoy was more than ready to take another crack at the corporate icon who had murdered to protect her secret relationship with a call girl. A relationship that meant the end of her successful career, when it became common knowledge.

McCoy was certain he could gain another conviction. Even with out the testimony that had damned her character the first time. That's what made D A Arthur Branch's decision so hard to accept.

_Jack, drop it. Cut your losses - or rather - cut mine_. Branch had ordered. _This one is too much of a hot potato. _

McCoy understood the unspoken meaning of Branch's words. Branch wanted to silence the very vocal outcry from the feminist community. An out cry that was creating problems with the D A's re elections plans. Being a conservative was one thing. The accusations of 'targeting' corporate giants like Weaver was another. Those accusations smacked of endorsing gender bias in the workplace. Something even the most conservative of women wouldn't stand for at the polls.

_So a murderer goes free? _McCoy was still pondering the question hours later. He stared out at the ocean, finishing the last of his scotch at the _Island Mermaid. _It was McCoy's habit to stop at the popular bar beside the Ocean Beach pier whenever he stayed on the island. He was grateful this was his weekend to use the beach house. The solitude was a welcome change from the hustle of Centre Street. A change he craved after a loss like the Weaver case.

McCoy and his fist wife had bought a small beach house years ago, before the real estate market had taken off. The settlement agreement had left the house in both their names. Set up like a timeshare, the Fire Island house would eventually pass from the surviving spouse to their daughter. The house being of the few assets left unscrathed by his second divorce settlement.

He was about to order another scotch, when the bartender set a fresh drink in front of him.

"Complements of the lady at the end of the bar."

McCoy looked across the bar and did a double take.

"Send it back," he said pushing the glass away as he stood, tossing some cash on the bar.

McCoy was half way down the pier when the willowy blond breathlessly caught up with him.

"Mr. McCoy, please wait-"

McCoy turned, the woman taking a step back, seeing the fury his eyes held.

"Ms. Weaver you won't have your freedom long, stalking a public-"

The young woman shook her head.

"You don't understand, Mr. McCoy. I have no sinister intentions. I, well, I tried to catch you in at the courthouse. But, by the time the paperwork was completed-"

"Ms. Weaver why are you here," he demanded intently searching the dark eyes. The time she had served in prison awaiting her appeal had made Weaver slightly thinner. The face paler, but none the less striking . The sharp, unflinching gaze he had become accustomed to during her trial, remained.

"I wanted to thank you."

McCoy laughed a harsh, humorless laugh as he continued towards the end of the pier.

"It wasn't my intention to use evidence that would lead to a reversal. Or is that your way of gloating?"

"If I wanted to gloat, I'd be talking to _The Ledger _about prosecutorial misconduct or planning a law suit against the city - and you," she said matching his sarcasm.

"Both actions I'd expect you to savor," he shot back.

"I'd savor this much more," she said suddenly reaching upward. Taken off guard, McCoy found a hand on his shoulder, steadying Weaver as her other hand reached to bring his head forward and down. Taken completely off guard, he instinctively responded to the inviting lips pressed against his mouth.

"What the hell was that," he growled, breaking the embrace as suspicion replaced shock.

Weaver smiled seductively up at him.

"You're well aware women find you attractive, Jack. Why would I be any different?"

"I'm not your type," he retorted ignoring her use of his first name. "Have you forgotten Julia Veoso?"

Her smile deepen. "I've been locked up with nothing but women for months. Besides,you're an interesting man. An attractive one, as well. Is it really so surprising I'd notice?"

McCoy looked away from her, out at the Atlantic. Cursing himself for the physical reaction he couldn't ignore.

He felt her rest her hand on his as she said softly, "don't worry - you of all people should know, I'm not stupid. I lived like a nun in prison."

McCoy shook his head, feeling like he had somehow entered an alternate universe. The universe of the absurd.

"You said you wanted to thank me. Why?"

"Because this whole thing has been a wake up call for me. Granted, I didn't see it that way at first. But, all that time away from the corporate world gave me a chance to see that, even though you were wrong about me, my life wasn't as it should have been. I was absorbed with my career, nothing else mattered… I can see why you thought I would want Charles Dillon dead."

"You're saying you didn't?"

"The trials over, Jack. You're not refiling the charges. I can be honest. I may have _wanted _him dead - that doesn't mean I made it happen."

"You're right. The trial is over. You shouldn't give a damn about what I think. Why do you?"

Weaver started run her hands over her upper arms. The sun was all but gone, the ocean breeze becoming intense. McCoy could see the goose bumps forming around the cleveage revealed by the light sweater. He resisted the gentlemanly urge to offer her his jacket.

"Honestly, I don't. During the trial I sensed... well, I sensed what kind of man you are. I sensed we have a lot in common. I'm intrigued by that."

" A lot in common? Like what?"

"Have dinner with me and find out."

McCoy sighed as they started back towards the boardwalk. He didn't trust Samantha Weaver anymore than any other defendant - less in fact - since she had been able to successfully manipulate the system. But he was curious. He had questions of his own. They were in a public place. It was unlikely she was going to suddenly shoot him with witnesses everywhere. Especially her first night out of prison.

She could see the hesitation in his face and grinned with triumph.

"Maguire's. Eight o'clock," said she moving away from him. "Oh, and Jack - I'd offer to buy, but I know a public official can't receive gifts. I want you to be comfortable - so Dutch?"

McCoy smiled in spite of himself nodding as she blended into the crowd. By the end of the night, McCoy planned to know exactly what Samantha Weaver was really after.


	2. Caution Discarded

_Lynn, I thought about your comment about Jack not being stupid enough to get involved with an ex defendant, and decided I needed demonstrate Jack's state of mind. Hopefully, chapter two will make his decision to meet with Ms. Weaver, a bit more understandable. Also, a few of you have voiced concern that I might pull a 'she's not really a lesbian' cop out on you guys. I promise **that** is **not **the direction were going in, at all. Appreciate the feedback - keep it coming!_

Jack walked swiftly through the crowded parking lot, the chilly ocean breeze whipping against his freshly shaven face. He knew it was a reckless thing he was doing. He knew better than to play head games with a murderer. But reason had given way to curiosity. Caution discarded in favor of defiance. He told himself that the risk was justified. Better than losing sleep over unanswered questions. Questions starting with how Samantha Weaver had known where to find him, just hours after being released from custody. But deep down, he knew it was more than that.

Over the last eighteen months, the drinking McCoy had brought down to a moderate level, was escalating. A trade off against his growing inability sleep through the night. It was no surprise that the migraines were coming more frequently. Both this primary physician and Liz Olivett had attributed the symptoms to post traumatic stress due to not one, but two horrific events. Witnessing Leland Barnes being shot on the courthouse steps, after weeks being a target on Barnes hit list, as well as the sudden and brutal death of Alexandra Borgia, had left permanent scars. Especially Alex's death. A death he still held himself in great part, responsible for.

McCoy knew he should turn back. Maybe even file a complaint with the police. _Too bad Lennie Briscoe isn't around anymore to take that complaint_, McCoy thought with a chuckle. He could only image the ribbing Briscoe would have given him for informing the 2 7 that he was alarmed by beautiful woman, who was almost half his age, kissing him and inviting him to dinner._ Maybe we should call out the SWAT team... that would be something that wiseass Briscoe would have come up with...Yeah, Lennie would have been rolling on the floor._

Knowing what he should to do and doing it were entirely different things. McCoy was tired. Tired of jumping when a truck backfired. Tired of looking over his shoulder, every time he received another death threat. He wanted control of his life back and confronting Samantha Weaver seemed like as good a place as any to try to regain that control.

Besides, it was a public place. Lots of tourists in for the weekend arts and crafts festival. It wasn't like he was cocky enough to meet her somewhere secluded. For all of her innuendo, Jack was savvy enough to know this woman was toying with him. He wanted to know why. He wanted to know how she knew where to find him. He was also interested in seeing how far she was willing to take this seduction farce to get what ever it was she was really after.


	3. Dining Wtih the Enemy

-1After exchanging pleasantries, the matre'd checked the reservation list and directed McCoy to the main dining room. Jack had dined at _Maguire's_ numerous times over the years. The restaurant was a beachfront landmark. An eatery known for its causal elegance and exceptional cuisine. White table cloths contrasted the dark walnut furnishings. The large room warmly lit by flickering light of the antique lanterns sitting on each of the tables.

While not unusual for tourists to dress formally, locals often dressed causally in jeans and sweaters. McCoy had opted for semi casual. A white dress shirt underneath the dark green sweater, collar open, a pair of dress slacks and his leather jacket. He scanned the room. Weaver waved, smiling as she caught his eye.

As he walked towards Samantha Weaver, Jack couldn't help but reflect on the pleasure felt during their unexpected kiss. Even from a distance she beamed with a radiant glow. The black cashmere sweater complimented the svelte figure. The golden hair pulled away from her face, loosely secured by a shiny black satin ribbon.

"I'm glad you didn't change your mind." she said grinning. "You always looked attractive in your suits, but I must say, you look even better in something more causal."

McCoy raised an eyebrow.

"Prison certainly seems to have affected your perception of me."

She handed him a glass of champagne as he sat down.

"Maybe being a free woman again has made me more generous. I understand you're a scotch drinker, but I hope you'll indulge me. If early release isn't cause for celebration, I don't know what is."

McCoy studied the glass skeptically, shifting his gaze towards the melodic sound of her laughter.

"Would you like the waiter to sample it first? Jack, if I poisoned you _here,_ it would be traced back to me before I could get on the LIE. I'd be back in Riker's before breakfast. Please don't be insulted, when I say my freedom is too high a price to pay, for a hastily thought out attempt at revenge."

"Ms. Weaver, I doubt _anything_ you attempt is hastily thought out," he said handing the glass to a passing waiter and requesting a double scotch.

"I hope you won't be insulted if I stick with scotch," he said glancing at the label on the chilling bottle. "My tastes are a bit more humble than two hundred dollar a bottle champagne. Besides, I'm sure you understand why I don't view the appellate courts decision as cause for celebration."

"Humble," she said ignoring his sarcasm. She seeming to be turning the word over in her mind. "That's not a word I would have expected you to use to describe anything about yourself, Jack."

"It's foolish to have expectations about a person you really know nothing about, isn't it Ms Weaver?"

" In prison, it was either 'Weaver' or my number. Please, call me Samantha," she said ignoring his question as she finished her glass of champagne. "I've acquired a new appreciation for things I have previously taken for granted. Like identity, taking pleasure in a chilled glass of champagne, or simply enjoying the company of an attractive dinner companion. I have you to thank for my new found awareness, Jack."

Simultaneously, they both reached for the bottle resting in the ice bucket.

"I've got it," he said giving her a look as her hand lingered.

She smiled demurely and slowly released his hand.

"Sorry. In Riker's it was pretty much self serve," she said amused.

McCoy filled the glass, returning the bottle to the ice bucket as he shook his head in bewilderment.

"If you asked me here expecting some sort of an apology, I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed."

"You don't take things at face value, ever do you? I suppose that's what makes you so successful professionally. I've found that the most intriguing people I know, have been my most aggressive adversaries. Think about it, Jack. If you'd been locked up for months, your brain turning to mush, wouldn't you want to spend your first night home with someone who stimulated you - in a variety of ways - as well?"

McCoy sighed as he tried to suppress a smirk.

" I've been locked up on contempt charges more times than I can count. Believe me, I've never looked to the person who put me in lock up for 'stimulation' afterwards."

"Yes, but your _actions_ put you in lock up. Not your lifestyle."

"No, I prosecuted you based on your action," he countered. "not your lifestyle."

"I didn't invite you here to attack you, Jack. But, we both know if your case had been solid, you never would have resorted to calling my former employees. I used my library privileges to do some research on you," she tentatively reached for his hand, noticing the slight stiffening of his jaw." That was a stupid thing to say. I didn't mean to alarm you. Any computer an inmate has access to, has extremely limiting filters. Even if I had wanted to, there is no way I could access _any_thing that might cause you concern."

"I'm surprised, not alarmed," he said deliberately leaning back in his chair. Determined not to tip his hand, he kept his tone causal, his hand still in hers." I thought researching cases was something you hired your attorney - Tepper - to do."

She nodded, smiling slightly." This little exercise helped to stave off the boredom of confinement. Besides, Tepper's job was to get me out of jail. A job he did quite well.

"I found the West Law website very enlightening. You have one of the highest convictions rates for major felonies in the country. Many of your peers, expect you to fill Arthur Branch's seat, when he leaves the DA's office. You make your cases with primary facts - hard evidence. Rarely do you use secondary tactics like character assassination - it's a last resort," she said leaning forward. "Jack, you know that being perceived as a bad person, doesn't prove guilt."

"I also know an appellate court ruling doesn't prove innocence," he said wondering where the hell his scotch was. "If it were my decision, we would be going to trial again, Ms. Weaver."

"_If_ it was your decision," she said with a knowing smile. " I'm still a free woman, whether you think I should be, or not. That's a statement of fact - not arrogance. Isn't it fitting that I spend this night with a man who is clearly above reproach?"

McCoy stood up.

"Maybe it would be more fitting for you to be having dinner with Arthur Branch."

Weaver looked up at him gesturing for him to sit down.

"In spite of your tactics, you made me ask myself some hard questions. Honestly, I did come out here to thank you. "

"How exactly did you know to 'come out here' to find me?"

"Something you said during the trial. You were coming into the courtroom, coming back from lunch with your assistant - Connie? I was conferring with my attorney, not really paying attention, until you mentioned the crawdads at the _Mermaid. _I was surprised, because I knew the place. From when I spent summers down here, during college. When I missed you at the courthouse today, I remembered the conversation and thought I'd take a chance and come down here. Spur of the moment. Just to see if you turned up. It's not like I had any where else I had to be."

McCoy sat down, giving her the same hard look he had given her on the witness stand. It was _possible_. McCoy remembered the conversation. He knew Connie loved seafood. He'd been trying for sometime to convince her it would be worth the drive to join him for lunch some weekend. He was usually careful about personal comments in the courtroom, for obvious reasons. Especially after the events of the last year. But, it was possible, coming in from lunch…maybe.

"And if I hadn't turned up?"

Weaver shrugged her shoulders.

"I'm not stalking you, Jack. I would have come by your office or had my attorney try to set up a meeting. I told you, nothing sinister."

Before McCoy could comment, an apologetic waiter joined them, offering to take their order.

"You haven't even opened the menu," Weaver began.

"I've been here before. I know what I want. What about you?"

Weaver ran her tongue slowly across her lips.

"I know _exactly_ what I want, Jack."


	4. Samantha's Connection

-1_Very late here, once again. Anxious to post, as I work Tuesday and probably will be forced to put the story a side for a day or two. Please continue to be your kind selves when you find an error I've missed. Hope you enjoy. Please, keep the feedback coming. It will be fun to see if you figure out "__**Nathaniel".**_

Jack savored his long awaited drink, as the waiter to took their dinner order. He was ready to call Weaver's bluff, as the waiter turned to leave.

"You woke up one morning and realized I was the man of your dreams, did you? Sounds like I better talk to the kitchen staff at Bedford Hills. Someone's been lacing the food with Love Potion Number Nine ."

Weaver smiled shaking her head. She placed her elbows on the table, her chin in her hands.

"You're saying I'd have to be on drugs to want you, Jack? Doubting your prowess with women," she said with exaggerated innocence. "or am I really that intimidating?"

McCoy gave her a look, his eyebrows arrogantly raised, dark eyes bright with amusement.

"Neither."

The waiter returned, removing two bowls of Manhattan clam chowder from his tray after replacing McCoy's long empty glass. Before leaving he refilled the nearly empty glass of champagne, Weaver taking the opportunity to order another bottle.

McCoy watched thoughtfully as Weaver turned her attention to the soup. She seemed instantly mesmerized. Jack pondered what the regime of institutional life must have been like for a woman like Weaver, as she consumed the broth with what could only be described as delighted bliss.

She looked up and her cheeks flush, realizing he'd been studying her.

"I didn't mean to get so…caught up. I've been like this since I left the courthouse. Everything - the soup, wearing my own clothes, walking on the pier earlier - it's well… exhilarating."

"You never thought things would go as far as they did, did you Samantha? You never considered what would happen if you were convicted," he asked quietly.

She turned her attention back to the red liquid. " I survived it. That's all that matters."

As dessert followed dinner, the verbal sparing lessened. McCoy kept the focus of the conversation on Weaver. He learned that the proceeds resulting from the sale of her penthouse would enable Weaver to start rebuilding her life. She'd had her belongings put in storage and planned to start looking for a permanent place to live, once she decided on a course of action. In the meantime, her hotel room sat the Midtown Hilton served as a temporary home for her clothing and personal effects.

The bantering would start when he broached her time being shuttled between Bedford Hills and Riker's Island. Or, when she attempted to bring the conversation around to McCoy's personal life. The exchange of innuendo, bringing the conversation eventually, back to neutral ground.

He knew it had been critical to prove to the jury Weaver was driven enough to commit murder to protect her position as CEO. Yet, the questions he had so cavalierly dismissed every time Connie had brought it up, began to nag at him: If she'd been a man, would Samantha Weaver's ruthless business practices have even been an issue? Would they have even been introduced in a murder trial?

McCoy chuckled as Weaver replaced the champagne bottle in the bucket, upside down.

"I'd say you killed it - I'll rephrase," he said returning her smile.

"I've heard _that_ a time or two," she countered.

"Are you ready for coffee?"

Weaver shook her head, as she dipped the last strawberry into the melted chocolate.

"That defeats the purpose of two bottles of champagne," she said biting into the fruit. "God, this is _fantastic_. I think I missed fresh fruit most of all. Here, Jack, you've got to have a bite."

McCoy started to decline, but Weaver swiftly reached across the table. She carefully filled his mouth with the fruit, rising to lean across the table, pressing her mouth to his. McCoy knew he should pull back, but he let his mouth linger on hers, as he had done on the pier. He heard himself sigh deeply as he returned the kiss, a hand moving to the back of her head. He gently ran his hand through the silky hair, taking in the scent of her perfume.

"Excuse me," a voice uncomfortably interjected. "Can I bring either of you anything else?"

McCoy looked at her inquiringly, as she picked up her pocketbook.

"Nothing for me. I'll be back soon," she said her hand causally squeezing his shoulder as she passed by.

Once in the ladies room, she checked the empty stalls, satisfied she was alone. Sitting at the vanity she reached for her cell phone in the small bag. She searched quickly through her messages, finding two from her attorney, another from her broker, and one marked Nathaniel. She laughed with relief as she read the word:** Connected**, signed with the single letter: **D**.

Quickly deleting the text message, Weaver took a moment to reapply her lipstick and perfume. Studying her face in the mirror, her triumphant grin gave way to a wave of laughter. She could hardly believe it. Early on, he'd had her worried, more than once.. Especially, when he failed to drink the Viagra laced champagne she had waiting for him. But, based on fleeting of response he unintentionally let her catch, it was likely he be just _fine _on his own.

She laughed again in anticipation.

Soon, Samantha Weaver would have that arrogant son of a bitch precisely where she wanted him.


	5. What Gets Jack Into Bed

-1_Thanks once more to Giwu at you are a fabulous Beta. Thank you for taking me under your wing. Now, before you guys send Nina and Ed to arrest me for character assassination...remember Jack is a womanizer. Four assistants, need I say more?. I wouldn't be 'McCoylover' if I didn't love Jack but hey; you gotta love Jack worts and all._

"Damn it," she muttered realizing she was laughing so hard tears threatened to damage her eye makeup. Being free again was heady enough, but being so close to getting her revenge on Jack McCoy was almost more than she could stand. The absolutely stunning realization was that she wasn't merely tolerating the man, but actually enjoying his company.

Every accomplished liar knows a believable lie contains an element of truth. Weaver saw a lot of herself in Jack. He was self- assured, tenaciously stubborn, and smart. She couldn't deny that his dedication to his career was equal to hers. She knew firsthand the extent of the hell she was about to unleash on this man. Although normally, she'd sooner have a root canal than have a man's hands on her, she reluctantly found herself warming to him.

She hadn't had any malice towards McCoy, at first. If she had been convicted based on evidence like her finger prints on the murder weapon or forensics evidence solidly linking her to the crime, revenge wouldn't have entered her mind. But to lose her freedom, her career because of testimony from a bunch of whining babies was too much. Men that who wanted the benefits of a high powered career, but when domestic matters like caring for a spouse with cancer came up, they expected her to make allowances for them. Allowances she never expected for herself.

_If only you had stuck with the evidence. If only you hadn't made it personal, Jack_; she thought with some regret. But not enough to reconsider what she had put in motion.

Taking a final dab at the corners of her eyes, returned to McCoy. Even though she often chose to be intimate with women, Weaver knew the dance of seduction had basically the same steps whether one was pursuing a man or a woman. She knew he'd would fight it, but it was clear McCoy was just like any other middle aged middle-aged man. Massage the ego and especially if the masseuse was young and attractive, eventually he'd be open to other things being massaged.

The research she'd had done well before her trial had even begun supported the conclusion that Jack McCoy was one of those men that who was drawn to women he knew he had no business pursuing - like four of his female assistants. _God, what an arrogant man slut,_ thought for the hundredth time.

He stood up as she returned to the table.

"Jack, I haven't been to my safe deposit box yet," she said noticing the bill that lay on the table between them. "I don't have my credit cards, yet. May I give you cash for my part of the check?"

McCoy took the narrow white slip and scanned it quickly as he reached for his wallet.

"I must say this has been an...unusual evening. Why don't you let me buy you dinner - you can cover the champagne," he said as he laid his credit card on top of the bill.

"Jack, that's very gracious of you. Thank you." she said genuinely surprised. She leaned across the table to kiss him once more. He returned the kiss and reached for her hand.

The waiter gave them a not-so-subtle glare as he coolly removed the tray holding the credit card and tab check. Weaver reached over and placed hundred dollar notes into McCoy's hand.

"I realize we are the last to leave the restaurant tonight, but if one of my employees gave a customer that kind of attitude, he wouldn't be an employee for long," she said.

"I think the change in attitude has more to do with me than you. After witnessing that kiss, he probably thinks I'm a dirty old man taking advantage of your youthful innocence," he deadpanned.

"As long as he's the only one harboring those delusions," she said dryily."I'm thirty six, Jack and a CEO of a fortune 500 company. I am hardly a babe in the woods. Plus we both know I'm not..." she stopped in mid-sentence and made a face at his knowing grin." Very clever, Mr. District Attorney."

McCoy shrugged his shoulders. "Getting guilty people to admit they aren't as innocent as they seem, is what gets me out of bed in the morning," he said smoothly. McCoy smirked as he finished the last of his coffee and stood. "Shall we?"

Outside of the restaurant, the pair was immediately met with by the icy chill of the ocean, coupled with dense fog. McCoy turned to ask her a question, instead quickly reaching for her as she suddenly slipped on the slick walkway sidewalk . She smiled up at him, remaining in his embrace. She was certain she could feel his pulse increase its' tempo and this fed her ego.

"Maybe that second bottle wasn't such a great idea," she said with a hint of laughter. She looked up into his eyes, moving her body close to his.

"I certainly hope you weren't planning on going back to Manhattan tonight. There's no way you can drive," he said.

"I know what gets you out of bed, Jack. Tell me, what is it that gets you into bed?" she asked.

She moved to kiss him, but McCoy stepped back took a step back from her and held her questioning gaze.

"Samantha," he said softly," How far are you going to take this charade? I may not know what it is you really want, but I know this isn't it."

"Right. I don't want this," she said running her hands through his graying hair then massaged the back of his neck." I don't want this, either."

McCoy closed his eyes He shook his head as a her hand traveled lower, resting on his zipper.

_Fuck it_, he thought. He abruptly pulled her to him, roughly holding her and claiming her mouth with his. He'd had spent the better part of the evening doing the 'right thing'. Now it was time to see who would was going to blink first.

Instead of the rebuff or slap he expected, he felt her body arch and her tongue impatiently part his lips as her hand moved more urgently over the bulge in his pants. She even moaned softly and trembled briefly.

It had been a long time since he'd had been with a woman. A few times after the last divorce there had been a few some one night stands that had hardly been worth the effort. Then there was a brief, but disastrous affair with a defense attorney he'd known for years. It seemed like forever since he'd thought about seducing a woman so young. After Claire, he'd had been determined to swear off office romances. He definitely never allowed himself to become involved with a defendant; not under any conditions. He knew better than to do that. At least he thought he did.

Weaver had drunk the excessive amount champagne for two reasons: To lengthen the time at the restaurant to give her cohort enough time to do what was needed at McCoy's beach house and to relax herself enough to be able to make this part of the evening believable. Much to her amazement, her body was responding all on its own to the passionate kisses that had started so aggressively on her mouth and now were lingeringly working their way down her neck, as his hands teasingly fondled her body. It had been so long sense she'd been touched for the sake of her own pleasure.

Not since Julia. Julia had been a pro. A positive in that Julia knew how to take Weaver places physically she'd never dreamed were possible; but a negative in that Weaver was never quite sure if it was passion on Julia's part or just well rehearsed sex designed to gratify a steady meal ticket. Her body ached under Jack's skilled hands. She could feel her knees starting to give, just as he pulled back from her.

"You play the game well, I'll give you that," he said, self satisfied smirk on his face." Is the plan to set me up for a rape charge?"

Weaver ignored the snide question, as she grabbed the lapels of his leather jacket, her eyes glazed with desire.

"Do you know how long I've wanted to fuck that arrogant smirk off your face," she demanded as she pulled him to her, kissing him until his deep laughter was replaced with a primal moan.

"Listen. No more games. My hotel room or yours?"

After asking the carefully phrased question she held her breath, knowing his response could stop her dead in her tracks.

She turned away from his gaze, looking downward as his arm went around her shoulders as he replied, "Let's take a walk."

It took every ounce of self control she had left to suppress another fit of laughter. He'd fallen for it.

_Diana was right!_

"Jack, I don't need to be sobered up-" she started, right on cue.

"If your 're sure this is what you really want," he said. "My house is just down the beach."

His words exactly as Diana Hawthorne had predicted they would be


	6. The Dream of Every Prosecutor

-1_Sorry this too so long - real life obligations took priority. Once again much, much thanks to Giwu - the best damn Beta on the planet - maybe in the universe! Since it took so long, I made this chapter extra long to compensate. FYI: If you're not much for sex scenes, you may want to bypass this chapter._

The path down on the beach was deserted but for the pair. As they walked through the now dense fog, the only sound was the steady crash of the waves on the not too distant shoreline. The knowledge McCoy's former lover provided had proved to be a perfect companion to Weaver's own innate skill of reading people.

Both agreed the only way their plan would work was to get McCoy to bring Weaver back to his place. They had agreed there was no way he wouldn't he risk her taking her to a hotel room - even if he was thinking with parts well south of his brain. In fact, she had taken great care to heed Hawthorne's warning: _Don't let on that you know anything about him that isn't a matter of public record or he'll bolt. Anyone involved in criminal law is acutely aware of the dangers there are in the wrong people having that kind of information._ _The dangers extend not just to themselves, but to their families. Approach him as if the only things you know about Jack McCoy have to do with your case and his job. Anything else and we're screwed._

It had been easy to manipulate Jack into an invitation to his home, simply by acting like she had no idea it even existed.

"Samantha," he said jarring her out of her thoughts. "Maybe we should discuss some practical matters…"

"I hope you don't find this presumptuous," she said opening her purse and placing the small plastic wrapper in his hand. "but I didn't get to where I was am today without preparing for all out comes."

McCoy smiled as he pocketed the condom.

"I have to admit, I'm running out of theories to explain any ulterior motives. I guess this eliminates any speculation about a plot to have my love child," he said, both of them chuckling.

Weaver shook her head and moved moving closer to him.

"That would have been inventive but the losses - like the irreparable damage to my figure - would far outweigh any benefits. Besides, years ago I had my tubes tied. The condom is to put both our minds at ease about other issues."

McCoy nodded in agreement. A part of him wanted put aside his concerns and focus on only his carnal desires. God knows the woman had been asking for this from the moment she approached him. While he still didn't buy she was in this because screwing Jack McCoy was a lifelong dream of hers, he was certain she was a more than willing partner. It certainly wouldn't be the first time he had sex solely for the sake of sex.

However, now he was the father of a young woman. He'd also worked with a series of women he'd grown fond, if not protective, of. Through those experiences, he'd gained insight into the workings of the female mind and heart that he had lacked in his fuck-first-ask- questions-later days. He knew he could be a real bastard after the deed was done but one great turn-on for Jack, had always been his ability to meet the challenge of exciting and pleasing his partner.

"Actually, protection wasn't where I was going," he said seriously. "I used to work with a young woman who is gay. I'm well aware there are aspects … there are things that aren't… wouldn't be pleasant for you to subject yourself to… "

Weaver stopped walking and looked up at him, genuinely dumbfounded. She recalled Hawthorne's assurances, but this was above and beyond any expectation she held. Most of the men she was acquainted with would have concluded they had already gone well passed past the point of no return when she agreed to join him at his place. Additionally, they would have been conceited enough not to question their own knowledge of what a woman wanted.

Impulsively, she kissed him again, with a tenderness that surprised both of them. When she was finished she laughed at the perplexed look on his face.

"Relax, Jack. While it's true the majority of my romances have been with women, this is hardly a romance is it? This is sex," she said. I haven't limited my sexual encounters solely to women. I'll admit I find most men tiresome, but occasionally there have been exceptions, like you."

"You're saying your bisexual?" he asked

"That I am," she replied "and no matter what happens, you should know that I sincerely appreciate you caring enough to ask." She paused closing her eyes, feeling a slight twinge of hesitation. _Maybe this was a mistake._ _NO-just because he has a decent side, doesn't mean he doesn't have this coming to him. He didn't do the decent thing in that courtroom, did he,_ she thought to herself.

She looked up again, meeting his gaze with an arrogant gaze of her own.

"No matter what else happens? That implies…,"he began.

"Only that I'm well aware of how much you're going to miss that arrogant smirk I'm about to relieve you of," she said seductively as she ran her hand back down towards his inner thigh, licentiously kissing his mouth.

The dim light of a hurricane lamp greeted them as they entered the small house. Weaver carefully looked around the room as McCoy removed their coats and placed them on the rack by the door.

"Can I offer you something to warm up? Brandy, coffee or Irish coffee," he asked as he punched in the code to disarm the alarm system.

Knowing she needed to distract him long enough to start the video recorder she opted for Irish coffee, after she freshened up in the bathroom. While as McCoy busied himself in the kitchen, Weaver followed the small hallway finding where she found three doors. The first one she opened and quickly closed again, one glance confirming it wasn't the master bedroom. She walked past the middle door and into the master bedroom. Without pausing, she reached behind the dresser beside the door, smiling broadly as she felt the remote control in her hand.

McCoy handed her the steaming mug, as she dropped her gloves and handbag on the coffee table. The sitting room was inviting. It was tastefully decorated - Weaver assumed by his ex-wife. The impressive stone fireplace held several framed pictures of the same young woman at different ages.

"This is a charming place you have, Jack," she said taking an obligatory swallow of the coffee. "Whomever your decorator was, she did a nice job."

She moved towards over to the two-tiered bookshelf that ran under the picture window. The shelves overflowing with an assortment of novels, law journals, and magazines.

"You're well read," she said thoughtfully. "Fairstein, Paretsky, Faludi - I'm impressed."

"Don't be," he said, setting his scotch on the coffee table and moving behind her, his hands on her shoulders. "My stuff is mostly the motorcycle magazines, some of the law journals, and Grisham."

"Your stuff? Does someone-"

"Samantha, maybe its better if neither of us asks too many questions," he said. He removed the ribbon, releasing the silky blond mane. "Are you getting warmed up," he asked as his lips began to move down her neck.

Weaver leaned against McCoy. Her hand moved to find the inviting hardness between his legs.

"Oh Jack, I think 'hot' is the better word."

Weaver gasped audibly as his hands moved from her shoulders underneath the softness of the cashmere sweater.

"God, it's been so long," she moaned. His fingers lavished attention on her soft, firm mounds which were already responding to his touch. She began to fumble with his zipper as he turned her to face him. His hands moved the sweater slowly up and over her head. He gently whispered her name as he bent his head down to explore her breasts with his mouth and tongue.

She knew part of her lustful reaction was due to the fact that she hadn't intimate with anyone since before her conviction. Weaver had always been a very sexual woman. Her self-imposed celibacy had been necessary, but painfully frustrating. Some days she ached for the touch of _**anyone**_.

Weaver regretfully stepped back out of his reach momentarily and removed McCoy's sweater. She began to unbutton the shirt, opening it as his mouth found hers. They sensuously explored the others chest. McCoy could feel the urgent demand of his cock as he pressed against Weaver's body. In his mind he was throwing her on the bed and pounding into her tightness already. He just needed to seal the deal.

"Jack," she said softy as she took his hand. "I'm still waiting for an answer." Her eyes twinkled mischievously.

McCoy looked at her with a mixture of lust and amusement, a lazy half smile half-smile resting on his lips.

"Still wondering what gets me into bed?"

"I'm beginning to think maybe you're not sure. Earlier, you were gracious enough to give me an out," she said moving closer to him as her pants joined the pile of clothes on the floor. "I certainly don't want to take advantage of you. Maybe I shouldn't have been so presumptuous. I know how you feel abut me personally, possibly you find my body equally repulsive."

McCoy's eyes moved appreciatively over the woman before him; clad only in a lacy purple thong and matching bra that pushed her ample breast enticingly upward. He took her hand and led her to the bedroom.

In one motion, he flipped the switch on a small lamp. Then returned to her, unclasped the bra and let it fall to the floor.

"Revolting," he whispered as he caressed her naked breasts." Positively horrifying."

As he kissed her a one hand moved down her body as the other held and kneaded her shapely backside. In response Weaver removed his shirt and caressed his surprisingly hard, muscular chest. Her hands moved slowly over his chest, lingering to play with his hardened nipples until he moaned with delight, involuntarily thrusting his hips against her. Her hands moved to undo his belt and remove his pants. As they dropped to the floor, Weaver slipped a hand into his briefs. McCoy gasped with pleasure as her hands teasingly stoked his hardness.

"Oh God," he said. He was gritting his teeth and trying to clear his mind of how tight he knew she would be. He placed an arm around her waist, drawing both of them onto the bed. From the way she touched him, Jack knew this woman was well versed in gratifying her lovers.

He whispered her name as his hands impatiently slipped the thong down her shapely legs. She sensuously opened her legs, releasing the garment as she guided his hand to the smooth wetness between her legs.

"God, you feel incredible, " he said as his hand moved with tantalizing expertise. He steadily caressed her until he felt her body begin to move with his strokes. "Does that feel good?"

"You know it does," she purred as her breathing became more rapid. She gasped and shuddered with pleasure as McCoy replaced his hand with his mouth.

He continued playing with her clit gliding his tongue over it, waiting for her body to assure him she was indeed excited by his actions. He grinned with immense satisfaction, feeling her body lift off the mattress as he began to move his tongue in and out of her, carefully manipulating her clit in the process. He brought her within strokes of climax, her body moving in a steady beat with his mouth. Without warning, he returned to her mouth, his body on top of hers moving with her, even as he felt the urgent protest.

She held him tightly returning the kiss with lustful passion as her hand found his organ once more.

"Bastard," she whispered as she continued to run her hands over him. "You're going to regret being a tease, McCoy."

"What happened to that crap about knowing what kind of man I, you tried to hand me earlier? Besides, that's why we're here isn't it," he shot back, his voice shaking with ardor. "I thought you wanted to fuck that arrogant smirk off the bastard that prosecuted you."

"When I'm finished, you are going to BEG for it, Jack," she hissed as she began to lower herself toward his cock.

McCoy moved to stop her. She looked up at him and saw the unspoken question in his eyes.

"Jack," she said with feigned annoyance," I'm quite sure I want to do this. If you want to get laid - don't screw it up by playing the nice guy."

McCoy released her with a gleam in his eyes.

"And I thought I was above reproach. Besides - I _never_ beg."

She gave him a look of defiance as her mouth found his hard shaft. She focused her energies on her task. She'd would never admit it to a man, especially this one, but he was right-oral sex wasn't her favorite activity when she was with a man. She could do it and do did it well, as she had been told more than once. However, it wasn't something she relished. But, she certainly wasn't going to give Jack McCoy the satisfaction of being right about anything. That smirk had to go-at any cost.

She gained motivation to continue as he groaned with obvious pleasure. She knew he was trying to hold back most likely out of concern, as well as the desire to gratify his ego, by waiting her out. His body grudgingly began to move involuntarily, thrusting in and out of her mouth, growing more urgent in its beat.

She heard him try to catch his breath.

"Samantha…this isn't... ... isn't... an endurance test," he gasped.

She laughed, pausing just long enough to reply," Do you want me to stop?"

She laughed again in triumph, when she heard no response.

Finally, just as she was ready to bring him over the edge, he roughly pulled her away from his cock. Without any real rancor, he called her a bitch as he covered her mouth with his. He used his legs to keep hers open and accessible. With one arm he kept her on top of him, while with the other he found her wetness and slowly brought her back to the edge stroking her clit as he slipped a finger inside her pulsing cavity.

"The smirk is still there," he said. He delighted in watching her wither and shiver uncontrollably under his touch. "What are you going to do about it?"

"What would you like me to do?" she replied moving her hips as her body strained to meet his touch.

McCoy met her eyes and deadpanned," What every prosecutor dreams of - confess."

Weaver struggled to hide her utter shock, staring at him before replying mocklingly,"Why would I confess to a crime I plead innocent to? Besides, if this isn't coercion, I don't know what is."

He grinned at her and shrugged his shoulders.

"This falls under the heading of 'excited utterances'", he said sarcastically." Pleading innocent and _being _innocent are different things. You've never come right out and said you didn't do it, Samantha. Did you?"

She gave him a knowing smile.

"What _else_ do you want?"

"I'd settle for you _trying _to follow through on your threat, after I'm finished with you," he said as he slipped another finger inside her. He could feel the power of her contractions as he thrust in time with their tempo.

As she approached her climax, she reached for him. She skillfully moved to release his hand, replacing it with his aching penis, sliding it into her warmth. She sat up, leaning back as he began to thrust inside her. She rode him in a delicious wave of ecstasy. She closed her eyes as her climax came violently, her body long over due overdue for the release.

She looked down at her partner, who was watching her intently his eyes glazed over with excitement, his smirk replaced by desire. She moved to meet his lips, his arms holding her as he rolled them over. When he started to loose control, Weaver watched his face contort with bliss as his body racked with spasms of pleasure.

McCoy listened to the stillness of the house as he studied the face of his sleeping lover. He knew the smart thing would have been to send her back to her hotel. As pleasurable as the evening had been Weaver was right. This night had been about sex, not romance. If the fog had not been so dense and it hadn't been too late in the small community to call for a cab, he would have accepted Weaver's earlier suggestion to end the evening with her return to her hotel.

Carefully, he moved out of the bed, picking up the robe that lay beside the bed. Even with the physical release that had brought a longer than usual session of sleep, McCoy found himself restless. Moving to the dresser, he quietly began opening a drawer, looking for something his unexpected house guest could wear in the morning.

His mind was preoccupied on a review of the evidence he'd had during Weaver's trial, as he reluctantly began to question whether he had indeed missed something, possibly misjudging her guilt. As he pulled a pair of sweatpants from the drawer, he inadvertently knocked his watch from the dresser top of the dresser. He swore softly, unable to stop it from falling behind the dresser.

McCoy bent down, stretching his arm. He felt around blindly, finally touching the watchband. As he pulled his arm out, he was puzzled to feel something unfamiliar. McCoy stared at the small device for a moment. It appeared to be a sort of remote, with a strange thin white cord attached.

He glanced at the bed, making sure he hadn't woken Weaver. He carefully pushed the dresser forward, cautiously pulling the wire. He followed its the path around the room to just above the bedroom window. He gave the wire a tug and what looked to be a miniature camera fell into his hands just has he heard the sound of the DVD recorder clicking off.

He sat on the edge of the bed, studying the device, then his sleeping lover.

"Son of a bitch."


	7. The Morning After

When she awakened, Weaver found herself alone in McCoy's bed. She smiled with sweet satisfaction, as she remembered the events that had transpired a few hours before. She stretched her body, reveling in the exquisite comfort of waking in something other than a prison bunk. Resisting the urge to go back to sleep, she reluctantly threw off the down comforter.

She slipped into the sweat suit McCoy had left on the edge of the bed and she went to the back of the dresser. Using the over sized sleeves of the sweat shirt to cover her hands, she quickly found the remote. Weaver swiftly unplugged the cord, carefully following its path. She pulled the camera down into her waiting hands. After unplugging the camera from the DVD player, she removed the disk and went to the closet.

The box was where Diana had said it would be. After depositing the camera and cords in it, she slipped it back to the far end of the closet, among the collection of shoe boxes and sweaters she once again assumed belonged to the former Mrs. McCoy.

Slipping the disk in her waistband, she cautiously ventured back into the living room. She was relieved her good fortune seemed to be holding. With a sigh of relief, she picked up her handbag and placed the disk inside. Taking the bag with her,Weaver made her way to the bathroom to freshen up after the nights activities.

She much as she had enjoyed herself, she knew better than to push her luck. She needed to get herself and that disk as far away from Jack McCoy as she could, before there was a chance for anything to go wrong. She was just finishing her make up when there was a quick tap at the door.

Weaver looked up as McCoy stuck is head in the room, a cup of coffee in hand.

"Good morning, I thought after last night you might need this."

"Thanks,"she said reaching for the cup.

McCoy set the cup on the counter as he forcefully drew her in to an embrace, his hands working their way up the inside of the sweatshirt.

"Are you ready to pick up where we left off last night," he asked ravishing her mouth before she could reply.

"Jack,"she said breathlessly pulling away,"last night was fun-"

"'_Fun'_," he said incredulously."That's putting it mildly."

"You're right - it was unforgettable,"she said more than a little surprised at his ardent manner."but-"

"But what? Samantha, I know I was skeptical, but last night you convinced me."

"Convinced you," she said as she moved quickly toward the living room."Of what?"

"Why…of your innocence,"he said as he followed her.

Weaver dropped the pile of clothing she had hastily began to gather and whirled around.

"Don't try to play me, McCoy," she said scrutinizing his face.

McCoy gave her a well practiced look of sincerity, embracing her once more.

"I deserve that. After you went to sleep, I started thinking about you. The risk you took tracking me down. The guts it took to, not only be so open and honest, but to give youself to a man that had shown nothing but suspision and contempt towards you. I figured I owed it to you to review your case file. I stayed up half the night doing it. You were right - nothing but circumstantial evidence. Samantha," he said his eyes meeting hers. "You were right - I was an arrogant bastard."

Weaver stared at McCoy trying to determine if this was yet another trick, another attempt at somehow getting a confession out of her.

She stood back, reclaiming the pile of clothing.

"It's in the past. Right now, I just want to get on with the rest of my life."

"You're still angry with me. That's understandable." he said following her into the bedroom. "Why don't you spend the day with me. Better yet, the weekend."

Weaver threw the sweater on, now completely dressed.

"Angry,"she said sharply. She reminded herself to stay focused, not to ruin months of planning by indulging in an implusive tirade.

"Jack. I think you're getting carried away,"she said blocking his attempt to embrace her once more."I can't begin to tell you what a pleasure last night was. But I have commitments in Manhattan this morning. Besides, we both agreed. Last night was sex - great sex- but nothing more."

He looked down at the carpet, feigning disappointment.

"I didn't mean to push you. Listen, can I at least give you a ride back to your car? Maybe buy you breakfast?"

Weaver looked around and moved towards the bathroom.

"I've been locked up so long," she said grabbing her purse off the counter and making a bee line for the front door."The walk would do me good."

McCoy helped her with her jacket and nodded.

"Samantha, I certainly never expected anything like last night. I _would_ like to see you again."

Weaver smiled taking smug satisfaction in the fact not only were McCoy's doubts apparently alleviated, but the man seemed to be smitten.

"Jack," she said after kissing him chastity on the cheek. "I promise, you _will _be hearing from me again."

McCoy watched her as she headed back towards the boardwalk, his forlorn expression dissolving into a smirk.

"Well McCoy," the other man said with a hint of envy, "now I see how you ended up thinking with something other than your brain. She's quite a number."

"Speaking of numbers, "McCoy said turning to the former homicide detective who now stood beside him. "Any luck with the ones you got from her cell phone?"


	8. Fontana & Jeffries Investagations

_Sorry to keep you guys waiting - trying to get ready to give a final in a few weeks. This one's short - will try to make up for it next time._

" 'You've convinced me of your innocence,' " the impeccably dressed Italian said skeptically, as he followed McCoy into the kitchen. "Putting it on a little thick wouldn't you say, counselor?"

McCoy shrugged his shoulders as he poured the coffee.

"It gave her something to think about instead of whether or not I was on to her. Besides, anyone brazen enough to pull something like this has an ego. Trust me - she bought it," he said sarcastically. "What about the phone?"

"I copied the data and sent it to my office in Westchester. I have one of my guys working on it now. He's also been in touch with our contact in Corrections. The visitor logs from Weaver's time in the system are being checked for suspects. He'll call as soon as he has anything. Thanks," he said taking the cup from McCoy.

"Joe, I hope you know how much I appreciate your help with this.Until I know more, it's premature to bring the police into this. If I thought she was working alone, I'd probably have confronted Weaver myself. But she didn't plan this in the half a day she was out of Riker's. She had to have help on the outside to pull this off. Until I know who else is involved - who else might have access my house - my daughter and ex wife come down here regularly. They could be at risk."

"Don't mention it. You did right by me with the Dolan case - besides anything for another son of the Windy City," Fontana said eluding to controversial rape - murder case he had investigated years before while in the Special Victims Unit.

The case had been cold for years. When a death bed confession opened the whole thing up again, Fontana's theory that the girl's father had been the murderer had been proven wrong, much to his dismay and shame.

"You have any ideas on who else might have a grudge against you?"

McCoy shook his head as the two men took their coffee with them to the spare bedroom. McCoy sat at the small desk glancing at the computer monitor, while Fontana made him self comfortable on the sofa across from him.

"I've logged into my files back at the office. Nothing stands out. Just the usual 'I hope you rot in hell' kind of threats. I've been doing this job so long Joe, there have to be hundreds of people that would like the chance to create havoc in my life - or worse."

The other man nodded.

"Between Leland Barnes' hit list, his shooting, and Miss Borgia's murder I'm surprised you haven't called it quits yet," Fontana said somberly.

McCoy sighed.

"Maybe you had the right idea. How do you like being a private investigator?"

"I miss working with Ed and Van Buren. The 2 7 was starting to feel like home. But, it was time. P.I. work has it perks," Fontana said thoughtfully. "Set my own hours- more time to travel. Besides, when Monique Jefferies suggested teaming up it sounded intriguing. She's a hard lady to turn down."

Before McCoy could reply Fontana's cell phone rang. McCoy listened to the brief exchange, looking at Fontana expectantly.

"Monique tailed Weaver to some bakery on the boardwalk. She said it looks like Weaver changed and then checked out of the hotel. She had her bags with her. She met another woman. Blond, attractive, mid to late forties, tall, slender… ring any bells?"

McCoy shook his head.

"Not off hand. Wait - let me see that list of contacts from her phone again." McCoy frowned as he scanned the sheet. "Nathaniel - no that would be too obvious. Besides, it's been years."

"Jack, you want to let me in on what's going on?"

Fontana listen intently as McCoy relied the facts of his relationship with Diana Hawthorne. He summarized the Dillard case - the case that had gotten McCoy his promotion to EADA. He still couldn't believe he had sent the wrong man to prison because Diana Hawthorne had withheld evidence that pointed to Dillard's innocence. He found it even harder to accept her sole reason for doing such an outrageuos thing was to help him secure a promotion.

"You sure have a way with women," Fontana joked. "She withheld evidence in a murder trial, just to help you get a promotion? Why might she breakfasting on Fire Island, instead of at Bedford, after a stunt like that?"

"Claire," he said his face softening as he thought about his late assistant. "Claire Kincaid was my assistant at the time. It was her case. She dealed it down to criminal facilitation. Diana lost her license to practice law. That was….over a decade ago."

"You think this Hawthorne woman still holds a grudge?"

"It's possible," he said carefully. "It would explain how someone got in here with out triggering the alarm."

"What do you mean?"

McCoy shifted uncomfortably.

"Diana was here the weekend I had the damn thing installed. She was here many times afterward. She knew the code."

Fontana looked at him questioningly.

"You haven't changed your alarm code in ten years?"

"A lot of this modern technology is more trouble than it's worth," McCoy said defensively. "Besides, we've never had any problems. It just didn't seem like there was any need."

Fontana nodded and changed the subject.

"Listen, from what you've told me, that camera's got to be still be here. Even a mini wouldn't fit in that clutch bag. I'll snoop around here. When the camera turns up I'll dust it for prints and some key points on the house - if we're lucky will get a hit and we can hand this over to the locals for burglary," Fontana paused. "I assume you'll want who ever is behind this charged?"

McCoy nodded.

"Even if that damn disk had found its way out of here, I would have to prosecute. Breaking and entering takes this way beyond embarrassment over a one night stand. Yeah, what ever you turn up we'll take to the police and the local DA."

"You think you can be discreet enough to check this blond out and not be spotted?"


	9. A Woman Scorned

-1"Eggs Benedict is the house specialty," Hawthorne suggested as her companion scanned the menu.

Weaver nodded handing the menu to the waitress.

"The Eggs Benedict and a double espresso."

While Hawthorne placed her order, Weaver removed the disc from her bag and slid it across the table. She placed her sunglasses over her eyes as she surveyed the growing group of patrons on the patio.

"Thank you very much," Hawthorne said, placing it in the pocket of her jacket. "So, how does it feel to be a free woman?"

Weaver smiled.

"I'll admit sleeping in Jack McCoy's bed was a damn site more comfortable than the accommodations I've endured the last several months," she said sardonically. "If the man wasn't such a moralistic hypocrite, he could have been a great asset to a company like mine."

Hawthorne waited for the waitress to set down their espressos and leave before responding.

"I learned a longtime ago the only thing that outweighs Jack's charm is his sanctimony. The last time we spoke - the day I went to his office after I admitted everything I'd done I'd was for him - the only thing he could say was 'I never asked you to do it'. Not a word of gratitude. Not an ounce of compassion," she said thoughtfully sipping her coffee. "Just that God awful look of disillusionment - as if he himself would _never_ cross an ethical line."

"I know you've been busy on your end - bring me up to speed."

Hawthorne nodded as the waitress approached the table once more. After setting their orders down and assuring herself nothing else was required, the young woman left the table.

"As you know, Arthur Branch has filed for re election. However, since Senator Rodham received the nomination for President, her Senate is seat vacant. Your timing couldn't have been better. I know for a fact, Branch has been approached and will be announcing his acceptance this weekend.

"Once that happens, Branch will move to appoint Jack interim D A. I've already approached the press - as well as key members of the ethics committee - anonymously with an outline of Jack's past indiscretions in and out of the bedroom," she said buttering her toast. "Lets see… his involvement with subordinates -while not exactly new, warrants restating. His affairs with Bell, Kincaid, and his first wife are well documented. Our affair still casts suspicion on his credibility. His first wife isn't worth approaching - I worked with her. Liz won't dirty her hands with something like this. I'm sure she still blames me for the end of that farce she called a marriage. Besides, she won't put their daughter through another scandal involving Jack. But Jack's _second_ wife...,"Hawthorne said with a grin." I'm meeting her later today. We've spoken a few times on the phone and she seems very cooperative."

Weaver nodded as she eagerly she tried the eggs.

"What about his more recent assistants? Rubirosa, for one. I'd really enjoy throwing a little dirt on her."

Hawthorne shook her head.

"Nothing I can prove. Even the few times she's gone out with him, it's been less than an hour and they didn't leave together. From everything I've heard, since Kincaid it's been strictly professional - at least on the surface. Now, Serena Southerlyn came out of the closet after her dismissal. If Jack had tried _any_thing, I'm sure she would have filed changes- if for no other reason than to embarrass Branch. Borgia wasn't around long enough - although the fact he basically got her killed - is something I definitely plan to use. As for Ross and Carmichael...maybe.

"That trip to California Jack and Ross took during a few years ago, got her ex- husband's dander up. Neil Gorton is more than willing to add fuel to the fire there. Carmichael would be just the type for Jack to go after - a real challenge - but there's nothing I can use. A few dinners, but again never left together.

"Now, your little home movie _that _is going to be the center piece - especially once I've done a little editing and you issue your statement as to how Jack led you to believe if he got the DA spot he would re file those charges if you didn't sleep with him. That is going to do the most damage professionally and personally," Hawthorne said with a gleam in her eyes. "If he thinks his daughter held a grudge over his second marriage, lets see how long it takes for her to speak to him after _this_."

Weaver shook her head.

"I don't know…even with the spin, will it be enough to finish him professionally?"

"With his last brush with the feds over that VA scandal, coupled with his obvious conflict of interest in the Borgia murder, the shadow already cast by a number of cases over the years on Jack's ethics - no way is his appointment as DA going to stand.

"Branch's ethics will be questioned as well and whoever does come in is going to have no choice but to force him out," Hawthorne said confidently. "It's just a matter of timing and the right exposure."

Weaver nodded.

"I have to give you credit, Diana. When you approached me during the trial, I figured nothing would come of your plan. It's been years since McCoy crossed you. Besides, you had feelings for him. I thought when it came down to it, you'd balk. I guess it's true: Revenge _is_ a dish best served cold."

Hawthorne laughed.

"I'm sure Jack thinks I got off easy. That he did me a great favor having Claire Kincaid accept my plea bargain. As if six months in jail was a slap on the wrist. Like being exposed in open court by his current lover wasn't the ultimate humiliation. This time, the shoes going to be on the other foot. There's enough truth in some of those allegations to keep an investigator busy for months. He may not do jail time but he'll lose the thing that's most precious to him. He'll be in his own private hell when he can't practice law anymore."


	10. I Did it for My Man

_If you watched the first season of SVU, you probably remember Detective Monique Jeffries. When I found out Fontana had, many years prior to his assignment in homicide worked SVU himself, I thought it would be fun to partner them up. _

The room with high-ceilings was paneled floor-to-ceiling and had local art hanging on its mahogany walls. What started as a bakery the 1970's when Jack first discovered Ocean Beach, had expanded to include a large dining room and patio area where vacationers gathered for strong coffee and casual breakfasts.

Rachel Doering, the owner of Rachel's Bakery, greeted McCoy warmly. After exchanging pleasantries, McCoy took his coffee and danish to a corner table facing the patio. Keeping his sunglasses and fishing hat on, he scanned the rows of umbrella covered tables and chairs.

The woman across from Weaver was concealing herself as well. The floppy hat and glasses made identification difficult. McCoy just wasn't sure. It had been too many years since he'd seen Diana Hawthorne. He remembered her bewildering revelation "_I did it for my man". _He could still recall the shock and revulsion he'd felt realizing the woman he thought he'd known so well was a complete stranger to him. A stranger who had deliberately an sent Andrew Dillard to prison out of misplaced loyalty and an absurd desire for McCoy's gratitude. Thirteen years and he still couldn't quite believe he could have opened his life and heart up to someone so deceitful, so needy.

He watched as Weaver handed the disc to the other woman, who promptly slipped it in the pocket of her grey suede jacket.

"Is this seat taken?"

McCoy looked up at the tall brunette. Dressed causally in a white denim pencil skirt, matching cotton tee shirt, and cranberry shawl collared cardigan, the bronzed woman was striking.

"Thank you for giving up your Saturday morning for this, Ms. Jeffries," McCoy said standing briefly as she set her coffee cup down while she took in the seat beside him.

"Not a problem. I've been trying to get Joe to take me to the shore since the weather turned nice," she joked. She extended a hand. "By the way, its Monique."

McCoy held the smooth, firm hand for a moment.

"Jack," he replied.

Jeffries glanced out the window as she took as sip of her coffee. She absentmindedly ran a hand through the mane of long tight curls, as the pale green eyes returned to McCoy.

"I see you found our girls."

McCoy nodded.

"Can't be sure whether the one in the grey is Diana. With the hat and glasses…"

"I had our guy in Westchester run some plates - the tan Cutlass in the lot belongs to Hawthorne."

McCoy swore softly, shaking his head.

"All these years…what the hell could have possessed her to take up with someone like Samantha Weaver? To break in to my house…to tape…what the _hell_ is she thinking?"

Jeffries could see the frustration in McCoy's face. She had met Jack McCoy briefly at Joe Fontana's retirement party. When Fontana had called her in the wee hours of the morning Jeffries had rolled her eyes, smirking as her partner filled her in on the call he'd received from Manhattan's second in command at the District Attorney's office. In the back of her mind she had thought McCoy a fool to have put himself in such a risky situation in the first place.

"Just be glad _you _have the real disc and not those two," Jeffries said keeping her tone neutral.

McCoy glanced at her, then quickly away.

"That disc is one thing, being in my house…my ex wife...my daughter could walked in when ever Diana…,"his voice suddenly stopped.

He flushed slightly, embarrassed as he realized the extent to which Fontana must have briefed his partner.

Jeffries could see his genuine concern for his family. She flushed with embarrassment, herself. _Who am I to be judging anyone, _she thought impatiently_. I was forced out of Special Victims because of a damned one night stand_… Jeffries pondered the night that changed her career path forever. The night she slept with a suspect in an on going investigation. A night that would eventually cost the former SVU detective the job she had loved and worked so hard to attain.

"Mr. McCoy? Jack. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Whatever her reasons, you have the upper hand now."

McCoy looked up into eyes that seemed to have softened.

"You must think I'm a real idiot."

Jeffries shook her head.

"Last night wasn't your finest moment. Nothing more nothing less. It certainly doesn't justify whatever these two are up to. We're just going to have to hope Joe lifts some good prints back at your place. We can use that disc to try to intimidate one or both of them into a confession, but you're a D A. You know better than I do the more hard evidence we have, the better the chances will be of a conviction in court."


	11. Mythical Fishing Trip

Diana Hawthorne drove slowly past the house, noting the driveway was empty of any vehicles. This included McCoy's treasured motorcycle. Things were just as she expected.

After finishing her business with Samantha Weaver, Hawthorne had noticed McCoy's Yamaha several spaces away from her car in the restaurant parking lot. Her heart had skipped a beat, as she heard the sound of his laughter. She unconsciously pulled her hat down over her eyes, as she scanned the crowd. She felt a mixture of alarm and anticipation. Alarm at the idea she might get caught, so close to gaining the revenge she had waited so long for. Anticipation that after so many years she might encounter her former lover.

She spotted him by the doorway of the bakery. She frowned slightly, realizing he wasn't alone. Hawthorne didn't recognize the African American woman with him. She lifted her sunglasses slightly, watching as McCoy handed the woman a cell phone. McCoy put a arm around her shoulders. The woman spoke into the phone, soon placing it in her bag as they began walking towards the other end of the lot .

_Well Jack's certainly moved up in the world_, she thought as the woman opened the trunk on the silver Mercedes SL500. _No way does a lowly ADA drive something like that. _

Hawthorne got in her car. She watched through the rear view mirror, as McCoy helped the woman gather what looked like a tackle box and a pair of fishing poles. She grinned, shaking her head with disgust as she saw McCoy embrace the woman, whispering in her ear. The woman said something that made him laugh again as, she kissed his lips.

_Same old Jack_, she thought as she turned the key. _He hasn't even had time to change the sheets and he's out looking for his next conquest. _

Hawthorne watched intently as the couple left on foot. They were walking towards the marina. Hawthorne assumed they were either going to fish on the pier or maybe take the morning charter out. Either way, that gave her the time she needed to tie up loose ends.

She parked around the corner from the Cape Cod style cottage and put on her gloves. She was alone. No people outside. No cars on the small street. She carefully looked through the windows, as she went around to the back of the house, retrieving the key McCoy and his ex wife had kept for years underneath the stack of firewood on the side of the house.

Hawthorne quickly slipped it in the lock. It still amazed her that two otherwise intelligent people, would fall into such an obvious and potentially dangerous habit. Once inside, she punched in the code she knew by heart and headed towards the master bedroom.

She smiled to herself as she pulled the box down from the closet shelf. She looked around the room she herself had been a guest in many times. The only thing that seemed to have changed since she and McCoy were together, was the comforter at the foot of the bed.

_All these years and Liz still hasn't replaced the wallpaper,_ she thought smugly, as she stared at the striped walls. _The only taste that woman ever had was in her mouth.._

Hawthorne sat on the side of the bed. She set the box down as she brought a pillow to her face. She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of McCoy's musky cologne.

With a sigh, she opened her eyes and picked up the box. She lifted the lid. Satisfied the contents were in order, she replaced the cover and stood.

Hawthorne was about to reset the alarm when the sound of a chair leg scrapping against the wood floor behind her made her turn suddenly.

McCoy waited for Monique Jeffries to make the left turn out of the parking lot and onto the main road before continuing their discussion.

"You're sure Diana saw us?"

Jeffries fought the desire to roll her eyes. She nodded, trying to keep the edge out of her voice as she answered the same question for a third time.

"Jack. I was _facing_ her. When I kissed you - even from that distance - I could see her turn whiter than Casper. She _saw _us," she said flashing him a smile. "Just remember what I said about extra services."

McCoy grinned.

"Monique, your willingness to play along is worth whatever rate I find on my bill from your office. I'm just glad you were willing to go along with Fontana's scheme."

"I've learned to trust Joe instructs," she said seriously. "When he said he hadn't found any useable prints at your house, I knew we'd have to set Hawthorne up somehow. I just hope our little scene in the parking lot was enough. She did drive off towards you place. Hopefully, she thinks you were going to be gone long enough for her to try to get that camera."


	12. Jack & Diana

The Suffolk's County Sheriff's cruiser was parked on McCoy's driveway when they arrived. Jeffries parked across from the house. As she and McCoy got out of Fontana's Mercedes, a uniformed officer came out the front door.

"Mr. McCoy? I'm Officer Stewart, Suffolk county sheriff's office. Guardian security alerted us when your house alarm went off. Could I see some identification, please?"

The officer carefully checked the badge and photo I.D. McCoy handed him.

"This is Monique Jeffries, of Jeffries-Fontana Investigations. I take it you've met Ms. Jeffries partner, Joe Fontana?"

"Nice to meet you ma'me,"Stewart said shaking Jeffries hand.

"Officer."

"Mr. Fontana has explained the er, delicate nature of your situation," Stewart said returning the identification to McCoy. "The ADA for Fire Island - Brooke Prescott- is on her way. In the mean time, I assume you want to talk to the suspect yourself?"

McCoy took a breath hesitating momentarily before nodding.

When the door opened Fontana met the threesome at the front door. The another officer remained at the kitchen table with Diana Hawthorne.

"It looks like your mythical fishing trip caught us _one _of the big fish's," Fontana said softly.

"Has she told you why," McCoy asked keeping his gaze on the man in front of him.

Fontana shook his head.

"I told her we have her on tape - I showed her the camera's I installed while you two were out. she knows the alarms code's been changed. We have more than enough to have her charged with breaking and entering. The fact she went right for the camera and had that disc on her should be enough for the Suffolk county D A to go for am illegal surveillance charge, as well. But she hasn't said anything about the disc. She won't talk about Weaver either."

"Has she lawyered up," Jeffries asked.

"Stewart read her her rights. She hasn't asked for a lawyer yet. Jack, have you decided how you want to handle this?"

McCoy shrugged his shoulders.

"Damned if I know. There are still too many unanswered questions. I guess I'm going to have to talk to her."

"You do want us with you when you talk to her?"

McCoy turned to Jeffries.

"I appreciate the offer Monique. But I think I might find out more if I talk to her alone."

Jeffries nodded and turned to Stewart.

"Officer Stewart could we have a word with you and your partner outside?"

As the two officers left with Fontana and Jeffries, McCoy walked into the kitchen. Diana Hawthorne looked up from the table, meeting his inquiring gaze.

"Hello Jack," she said simply.

McCoy looked at her, unsure of what he felt. She still looked beautiful. The trim figure, natural blonde hair, and clear blue eyes all as they had been the last time he saw her. A woman who had once been able to arouse his desire with a simple look or smile, now stirred nothing more in him than confusion and fury.

"Why," he asked as he sat across from her.

"Why? Why am I here? I'm embarrassed to say it Jack," she said with a hint of amusement." Old times sake. I was up here visiting a friend. I got sentimental. I thought I'd drive by. I didn't see your bike or a car, so I took a chance. I know, it sounds pathetic. You're such a creature of habit. I still can't believe you keep the key in the same place after all these years. I'll bet you still have that God awful green jacket-"

"Stop it," he hissed. "You broke into my house. You came in here to get a camera. A camera you planted to record me with another woman…what the hell are you _doing_, Diana?"

Hawthorne feigned ignorance.

"Record you? Jack - truly - I have no idea how that camera got here. I honestly thought that was the box I left here years ago. The one with pictures of us…that's what-"

"God damn it stop lying," he shouted as he slammed his fist down on the table. "Didn't six months in jail teach you anything? My God, Diana don't you realize how deep you're in this time? This time there isn't going to be a Claire Kincaid to save your ass!"

Hawthorne looked sharply up at him, her expression changing from ignorance to resentment.

"_Claire_ saved me," she said incredulously. "I suppose you think losing my license and going to prison was some sort of _reprieve? _You have no idea what my life's been like since then. Sending your little errand girl on your behalf to make that offer - what was it Jack? Were you too proud to face me one more time - to make the offer yourself?"

"On _my _behalf? Claire was the attorney of record in your case. Not me. It was her call. If I'd had my way, you would have done the maximum time," he snapped. 'Have you forgotten a man went to prison because of what you did?"

Hawthorne stared up at him processing what he had said.

"You never change Jack," she said defiantly. "Still the arrogant SOB you always were. Always such a sense of entitlement. To a win in court. To an assistant's bed. To advancement."

"The only thing I ever felt entitled to from you was your honesty," he countered.

"The hell it was. The Dillard case wasn't the only case I busted my ass to help you win. Did it ever occur to you, without my help you'd still be just one of the many at Hogan Place?"

"Your help almost got me disbarred," he sputtered.

"Go to hell Jack," she said quietly.

"I'm not going any where until you tell me why you planted a camera in my bedroom and how you're connected to Samantha Weaver."

Hawthorne set her jaw.

"Then you've got one hell of a wait," she sneered.

McCoy stared at her. Suddenly he stood up, grabbing her by the arm and hustling her into the bedroom. He slammed the door closed shoving her on to the bed.


	13. Home Movie

Hawthorne sat up her eyes wide with surprise, backing away from McCoy.

"Jack, what-"

"Shut up," he snapped as he took the disc out of his pocket and placed it in the player. "You don't want to talk about it? Fine. Then you can watch."

"What are you doing?"

"I want you to see what you were so anxious to see."

The television screen came to life. McCoy sat on the edge of the bed watching Hawthorne as the disc played. As uncomfortable as McCoy was, he had to try. He knew if she watched the disc,the passsion he'd felt when he had slept with Samantha Weaver would be obvious to Diana Hawthorne. Obvious and painful. Maybe painful enough to jar her into slipping up.

As hard as she tried to remain impassive as the scene played out, Hawthorne began to flush. Her expression changing from indifference to discomfort.

"Turn it off," she said softly.

"Isn't this what you wanted," he taunted. "You went to a lot of trouble not only to select a lover for me - but to be damn sure I enjoyed myself. I never thought I needed a pimp, Diana. Maybe I should be thanking-"

"I said turn it _off_," she repeated sharply, her voice cracking as she fought to hold back the tears.

McCoy flipped the set off and stood over her.

" Either the police or the private detectives _will _track that camera to you. The phone records on Weaver's phone already link you to her. The visitor records at Rikers and Bedford are in the process of being reviewed. The ADA is on her way. You know how this works Diana. If I hear it now, before the Suffolk DA builds a case, I can help you. If you wait it out, you're going to serve a hell of a lot longer than six months this time."

Before she could reply there was a knock at the door.

"Jack," Fontana said opening the door." I need to talk to you."

The an officer entered the bedroom as Fontana and McCoy joined Jeffries on the porch.

"I just got a call from Westchester. Looks like the relationship between Hawthorne and Weaver goes back to the start of Weaver's trial," Fontana said gravely.

"Apparently Diana Hawthorne was Diana Westbrook," added Jeffries as she scanned her note pad. "The visitors logs indicates a Diana Westbrook was working with Weaver's law firm. When we did a background check, it turns out Hawthorne was married to Tyler Westbrook until he died of a heart attack in 2004. Westbrook was co owner of a security firm in Flushing - even though Hawthorne sold out to his partner- that would explain where the knowledge about surveillance equipment, as well as where the camera came from."

Fontana nodded.

"After Westbrook died, it looks like Hawthorne went though the estate pretty fast. She's got a lot of debt on her shoulders. In 2006 she began working as a legal consultant for Tepper, Markham, and Winestock. That's how she hooked up with Weaver."

"A consultant," McCoy said perplexed. "She can't practice-"

"No, Jack," Jeffries explained. "She can't call herself a lawyer. She can't file papers or go into court and represent anyone. She can give advice. Advice like how to undermine the prosecution. Especially when the prosecutor is someone she worked with. Someone whose weaknesses she was privy to."

McCoy shook his head.

"Are you saying Tepper hired her to advise him on me?"

"It sure looks that way," Fontana said, "Jack. This isn't the first time. Her employment records indicate she's advised a number of firms who represented defendants against you."

McCoy felt a pang of sympathy for his former lover, in spite of himself.

"She was a gifted trial lawyer. So much passion for the law, so much talent…and she's reduced to this?"

"Sounds like may be we've got a motive," Fontana added.


	14. Joe & Diana

-1Diana Hawthorne stared at the bedroom door. She tried to compose herself before McCoy returned. It was one thing to view a recording like that alone; able to fast forward and quickly do the minor audio editing she had planned on. But to sit there with Jack; his glaring eyes, his crude innuendos. To see the obvious desire he had felt seducing Samantha Weaver - it was more than she could handle. Hawthorne thought she was long passed the spectrum of emotions she felt. Memories of McCoy and herself had flooded her mind, making her resolve all the stronger.

_God damn him_, she thought bitterly. _I'd rather do more time at Bedford Hills than admit anything to that man._

She looked up as Joe Fontana opened the door.

"Officer Stewart, Mrs. Prescott is here. She'd like a word with you."

Fontana joined Hawthorne on the bed, as Stewart closed the door behind him. Upon seeing her face, he removed the handkerchief from his jacket pocket and handed it to her.

"So you and McCoy…you two worked together?"

"I was his assistant."

Fontana sighed as he swore under his breath, causing Hawthorne to look up at him curiously.

"McCoy and his assistants," he said shrewdly.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "You don't know. I worked homicide at the 2 7 before I left the force. I saw how McCoy maneuvers the women he comes in contact with. The man's like a dog in heat, if you'll pardon such a vulgar expression. I still can't believe there hasn't been a class action suit filed against the D A's office over him."

Hawthorne listened carefully as she wiped her eyes.

"You're not a friend of Jack's?"

Fontana shook his head.

"If I had my way, our agency would have stayed out of this. My partner took the case. I wasn't about to let her deal with a guy with McCoy's reputation on her own," he lied. "As far as I'm concerned, this is just more billable hours."

"Thanks," she said as she returned the handkerchief. "Most of the ex- cops I know don't wear Armani suits or carry silk hankies."

Fontana smiled.

"Just because I was a public servant, doesn't mean I have to live like a servant. I have other resources."

"Really," she said warmly, looking Fontana over appreciatively." Too bad we didn't meet under different circumstances, Mr. Fontana."

"Joe, please. Listen, Diana - may I call you Diana? If you don't mind me saying so, I never have understood why an intelligent, successful, attractive woman such as yourself, didn't see through a guy like Jack McCoy in the first thirty seconds. The man builds his career on the backs of hardworking women, yet he has no respect for them. Not to mention his arrogance. What makes him so irresistible?"

Hawthorne considered his question and moment.

"Jack can be very charming, when it suits him."

"Well," Fontana said with a chuckle as he moved closer, "so can I. But women haven't sacrificed themselves for me. Not I'd want that. I mean look at you. You gave up your career, right? You were disbarred trying to help McCoy."

"I gave up my career twice," she said bitterly. "There was the fall out from the Dillard case. But when Jack - when we got back from Ireland...I thought he was going to_ propose_. How did he put it? He 'needed some space'. He'd made a mistake getting involved so soon after his divorce... a_ mistake_. It was just too hard to stay in that office after that. I had no choice but to leave."

Fontana put on a look of shock.

"That's a real shame. I bet you'd have been an EADA by now if you'd stayed. It sounds like the man is poison. Your career, jail time, now this," he said searching her eyes. "Diana, is Jack McCoy really worth another trip to prison? The Suffolk county DA didn't look amused when I spoke to her. I'll bet, if you tell her everything, she'd cut you a deal. A good deal. She sure doesn't seen to be a friend of Jack McCoy's."

Brooke Prescott tapped her fingers against the arm of the chair, letting out an irritated sigh. The Suffolk county Senior Assistant District Attorney was sitting with McCoy on his front porch. McCoy could tell the attorney was not pleased. McCoy had met ADA Prescott at several bar association and state prosecutor functions. She had a reputation as a no nonsense prosecutor with little tolerance for cutting deals and obviously less tolerance for D A's from other jurisdictions in her turf.

He could see balloons inside her car, which was parked beside his house. Although she was dressed causally - indigo jeans, suede boots, and a tailored sleeveless white button down shirt- it was obvious from her jewelry and make up she had had plans for her Saturday afternoon.

"Brooke, I realize this isn't how you planned to spent you weekend - but you _are_ on call," he said impatient with her attitude. "and a _crime_ has been committed- you could at least _act_ like you give a damn."

"Don't get smart with me Jack," she said sarcastically. "This isn't Manhattan. I don't need you to tell me when a crime as been committed. If I didn't give a damn, I'd be at my nieces birthday party instead of here, with your charming self."

McCoy glared at her, as Prescott pulled a pair of glasses from her briefcase. She picked up the yellow legal pad from her lap and skimmed her notes.

"With what my guys and your PI's have, the B & E charge is a slam dunk. As for the illegal surveillance, if you have the disc and she was going for camera, I should be able to make that fly, as well. It's the conspiracy charge that's going to be sticky, if we can't get more out of Hawthorne."

"There is the information Jeffries and Fontana dug up on the connection between Diana and Samantha Weaver," McCoy countered.

Prescott nodded.

"True. But would _you _pick up Samantha Weaver with what we have," she challenged. "Would a New York county grand jury indict?"

McCoy shrugged his shoulders.

"Probably not," he admitted." I just wish I knew why Diana would even want to involve herself in something like this. What?"

Prescott chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip.

"I just can't believe you haven't figured out the motive behind that disc."

McCoy raised his hands in defeat.

"If you think you know it, let's hear it."

"Jack," she said earnestly, "even a small time Suffolk county ADA like me, knows about the Dillard case. Diana Hawthorne probably still blames you for the mess she found herself in. My money is on payback - revenge- a chance to make you look bad. Maybe even destroy your career - just like she and Weaver have deluded themselves into believing you did to them."

"But it's been years," McCoy said doubtfully." At least for Diana. Maybe, when she got out of prison. But now?"

"Now is the perfect time," Prescott said flatly." Have you looked at a paper today or listened to the news?"

"What do you think? Brooke, I've been a little busy here," he said impatiently.

"It's official. Arthur Branch is filling Rodham's Senate seat. I'll bet you haven't checked you email or phone messages either? Jack," she said exasperated." don't you get it? Who do you think Branch is going recommend for the interim D A spot?"

McCoy shook his head as he paced back and forth. Finally, he turned to Prescott.

"Arthur and I have discussed this," he said firmly. "He knows if he appoints me DA what kind of Pandora's box he'll be opening."

"Well, apparently he doesn't give a damn. Driving over here, NPR quoted Branch as saying his replacement would come from within the Manhattan DA's office '- a colorful man with a unquestioned commitment to the people of New York county. A commitment to not only win for them, but to hang those who would defy the laws of this great state high'-" the fiery redhead sputtered. "duh, Jack…who_ does_ that sound like?"


	15. The Battling D A's

_Forgive me if you are a lawyer or live in New York. Neither applies to me. This chapter was written with a bit of research and a lot of wishful thinking._

Monique Jeffries looked up from McCoy's computer, when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Anything new," Fontana asked.

"Not yet. How'd it go with Ms. Hawthorne?"

Fontana came around and sat on the edge of the desk.

"Well, I know more than I ever wanted to about the whole 'a woman scorned' thing. If I ever start talking about taking someone with me to Italy, Monique, knock me out. When I come to, just say the name Diana Hawthorne."

Jeffries laughed.

"That bad? Did you get anything the DA can use in court?"

"She wants to talk about it. But she's not quite there yet. Maybe with a little time in lock up she'll soften up. I can make another run at her then. Weaver went straight to Hawthorne when she left Jack. It's obvious they had plans for that disc."

"Blackmail?"

"Maybe, but from the way Hawthorne talks, this isn't about money. She keeps coming back to Jack's indifference and what it cost her to be exposed in open court. She's got be after some sort of public humiliation for Jack. "

Before Jeffries could respond, Officer Stewart opened the door. Diana Hawthorne's cell phone was in his hand.

"… I can't just charge the woman because the interim D A of New York county got caught with his pants down!"

McCoy leaned over Prescott more annoyed at hearing his new title, than at the ADA's condescension.

"Call it illegal surveillance, call it conspiracy, hell call it production of and attempt to distribute _pornography_," he bellowed. "I want Samantha Weaver charged."

Prescott stood, staring up at McCoy unintimidated.

"Just because you want it, doesn't mean you're going to get it - at least right now. If you don't like the way I plan to run this case, call my boss."

"I don't want to call your boss. I just want you to do your job."

"Sleeping with you _isn't_ a crime Jack," she murmured under her breath, a snicker slipping from her lips. " Although maybe it should be. It's just in _really_ bad taste. At least in this case."

"I'm glad you fine this so amusing Brooke," he said irritably. "If you're finished with your wise ass routine, I'd like to point out New York county isn't the only place in this state where taping the sex act without mutual consent is a _crime_!"

McCoy and Prescott both looked towards the door, hearing it close loudly behind them. Fontana and Jeffries smiled uncomfortably.

"Sorry to interrupt," Jeffries began as she leaned on the porch railing, a cell phone in hand. "Diana Hawthorne's cell phone just had a call. I think you might find it and the last few voice messages interesting."

Prescott held up a hand.

"Wait - any body remember a crazy legal thing called 'expectation of privacy'? Being private instead of public investigators, the rules are a little different for you two. But I can't use this in court with out a warrant."

"Ever hear of 'probable cause' counselor," McCoy said pointedly. "She has no expectation of privacy when she's trespassing. Whatever she brought with her - her person, her purse, her phone- there is probable cause to search."

Prescott gave him an frosty smile.

"If it was her person or her purse we were talking about, I could argue the possibility of imamate danger - a search for possible weapons - _that_ is a no brainer. Have you read this months _ABA Journal_? The five of the nine Supreme's did an about face on search and seizure with regards to unopened email read by the police in the _Malero _case - a case any PD worth their salt will bring up when I go to trial on this. I want a warrant before any of my officers or I myself, listen to that voice mail," she said, adding sardonically, "I'm a simple girl, Jack. With simple needs. I deal as a last resort and when I build a case, I build 'em to stand. I rely on evidence that isn't going to get tossed the second I step into chambers."

"Fine," he said shortly. "if you want to annoy a judge _you_ have to deal with by tracking him down on the weekend for a unnecessary warrant, that's your decision. If you don't mind a suggestion from the know it all Manhattan D A - maybe your officers should charge Diana and take her down to county jail."

Fontana and Jeffries glanced at each other, both trying not to laugh at the battle of wills between the two attorneys.

"It looks like you two have things covered here," Jeffries added." Maybe Joe and I should head back across the bridge and start following up on some leads from Hawthorne's voice mail."

"Like you said, the rules are a little different for us," Fontana said moving towards the steps. "Jack why don't you walk me out and I'll fill you in?"

Prescott stood beside Jeffries, watching as the two men went across the street.

"I guess that sounded pretty juvenile," Prescott said quietly.

"Look, you're the one that's got to make the case. Joe and I appreciate the leeway you and your officers gave us. Can I get your number? Joe or I will call you as soon as we have some thing new. Hopefully, by then you'll have you warrant ,"Jeffries said handing the ADA Hawthorne's phone.


	16. Old Wounds & New Friends

Nearly two hours had passed before McCoy and Prescott stood outside the marina where the honorable Judge Harry Ellis moored his yacht.

"Now I understand why you didn't want to take any chances. I don't know when you find time to try cases, Brooke. From the sound of it, this guys expects you to get his okay before you wipe a defendants nose. I'm sorry I gave you so much grief about getting a warrant."

Prescott shrugged her shoulders.

"Ellis is a real piece of work. He used to drive me crazy - now I view him as a challenge. I make it a point if I have to deal with him, to make it as inconvenient for him as he does for our office," she said with a grin." Besides, I think we're even on the grief score. I could have been more sympathetic," she said smiling weakly. "Having what probably seems like the whole world privy to graphic details about your sex life can't be a lot of fun."

"I can deal with it. I just don't like being played," he said with a grimace. "I'll admit part of me would like to destroy that disc and forget any of this ever happened. Another part wishes I could be the one to nail those two in court."

"I don't doubt that."

"It's after two," McCoy said changing the subject. "I haven't eaten anything since breakfast. Your afternoon is shot because of me. Let me buy you lunch and I'll bring you up to speed on the voice mail."

The diner across from the marina was unimpressive as far as décor, but McCoy knew the service was fast and the food good. Once the bowls of French onion soup arrived, Prescott listened intently. She alternately ate and scribbled notes on her yellow legal pad, as McCoy relied the information Fontana had given him about Diana Hawthorne's messages.

"Wow," she said when he finished. "I don't know which cuts the deepest: The fact your ex wife is involved in this or that Hawthorne's has Branch's administrative assistant in her pocket."

"Lauren Hewitt? That is a shock. I've known Lauren since she worked for Adam Schiff. But my ex?" He said candidly. "After the divorce from hell, nothing Denise does surprises me anymore."

"Sounds like it was some battle."

"It's my own fault," he said thoughtfully. "I lost someone very …..special, before I met Denise."

Prescott looked up from her soup inquisitively.

"A car accident. Drunk driver. Claire died before they even got her to the E R. I never really got over...," McCoy said softly. He paused to collect his thoughts. "Even though it had been years, I had no business marrying Denise. It wasn't fair to either of us."

Prescott tentively reached for his hand.

"I don't know which is worse: A nasty divorce that makes you too bitter to risk being in a relationship again or losing the love of your life so suddenly that you're afraid to risk loving that deeply again," Prescott said wistfully. "Sounds like you got it with both barrels, Jack. I really am sorry."

McCoy gave her hand a squeeze, flushing slightly.

"I'm the one who should be sorry, Brooke. I didn't mean to open up old wounds, for either of us."

Prescott shook her head, reaching for the ice tea in front of her.

"Nothing to be sorry for, Jack. Sam and I had a good life, even if it was brief. I know you hit the ground running this morning," she said anxious to change the subject. "Maybe this would be a good time for you to check in with Arthur Branch. I'll bet he's anxious to talk to you."

McCoy stood his head as he frowned. He knew he had no choice. It was 'either accept the appointment or live with the consequences' - Branch's words. McCoy knew that meant. The Governor was putting pressure on Branch to bring in an attorney from Albany. An outsider who would more than likely have a political agenda McCoy and the other attorney's in the DA's office would have to adhere to. He just wasn't ready to face the inevitable yet.

"Arthur can keep," he said firmly. "Besides, I want to know more about Lauren Hewitt's involvement in this before I talk to him."

Prescott gave him a knowing look.

"Stalling? Is it this mess or are you less than thrilled with becoming D A?"

Prescott's cell phone stopped him from replying. McCoy grinned, recognizing the distinctive chimes.

"_I am Woman_?"

Prescott sighed, her cheeks reddening.

"My niece," she said self-consciously. "She must have changed my ring tone again. Lindsay watches too much Nick- at -Nite. She thinks being a DA means I'm a cross between Joyce Davenport and Grace Van Owen."

McCoy finished the last of his soup as he listened to Prescott's end of the conversation, motioning for the waitress to bring the check.

"Sounds like Fontana and Jeffries have something?"

"Yeah. Apparently your Mr. Fontana worked his magic on your ex wife - she's signing an affidavit stating Diana Hawthorne approached her to obtain information about you. That she offered to pay for it. As for Ms. Hewitt, she admits to taking money in exchange for keeping Hawthorne appraised of Branch's plan regarding the Senate seat and filling the DA's post - as well as keeping tabs on your affairs," Prescott said noticeably ill at ease. "Your professional and personal affairs."

"What about Samantha Weaver," he said evenly.

"Jeffries has a contact with Manhattan National - the bank Ms. Hewitt does business with. When she has the records, she'll fax them over to my office. Diana Hawthorne isn't a wealthy woman - it looks like Weaver might be the one bank rolling this operation. If that's the case they'll be a paper trail leading to her,' she said as she opened her phone.

"Now do you feel you have enough to indict?"

Prescott smiled.

"As my niece would say, 'oh hecka yeah!' I'm calling Stewart now - you said she's supposedly at the Midtown Hilton? Stewart can get the ball rolling to have her picked up and brought back to Long Island."

When McCoy watched as Prescott began her interrogation of Diana Hawthorne from the other side of the one way glass.

Prescott pressed the 'record' button as she placed the small tape recorder on the table. After having Hawthorne assert she had indeed been Mirandized and was waving her right to counsel, Prescott took a seat beside Officer Stewart and summarized the evidence against Diana Hawthorne.

"I'm going to be straight with you, Ms. Hawthorne - or do you prefer Mrs. Westbrook?"

Hawthorne eyes hot up.

"If you had known my late husband, you wouldn't have to ask that - Hawthorne, please."

"Ms. Hawthorne, Officer Stewart has already reviewed the evidence we have against you. You were a me officer of the court once - I don't have to tell you that it's in your best interest to plead guilty and cooperate with us. At least that might get you a sentencing recommendation and some leeway with the facility you're sent to."

"I can see you aren't the expert at cutting a deal that Jack is," she said glancing at the glass. "Maybe you should get him in here to show you how it's done."

Prescott raised her eyebrows.

"Jack McCoy is the victim here - not the prosecutor. Allow me to give you a geography lesson. This is Suffolk county, not New York City," she said obviously amused. "We don't consider the criminal justice system an extension of _Let's Make a Deal_ here. If you want to talk to my boss or the DA himself, I can arrange that. But I can guarantee you, you're better off dealing with me than my superiors - my interest is keeping my conviction rating above 86 percent. Their interests involve painting a tough on crime image for the voters."

"Fine," Hawthorne said blithely. "I'll be sentenced to ten years and I'll do - what - two and a half to five in a minimum security prison? You still won't have Samantha Weaver."

Prescott chuckled, as she leaned across the table.

"Ten years? Not after I add stalking a public official to the indictment. If you want to take the fall by yourself, it's less paperwork for me. But, there's a good chance I'll nail Weaver without your help - I should have your bank records and those of Lauren Hewitt and Denise McCoy by the end of business Monday. That's a start," she said standing. "Devon, I'm finished here. Ms. Hawthorne has an appointment in central booking." Prescott turned to Hawthorne as she reached for the doorknob. "I'll see you for arraignment Sunday night."

"Sunday night?"

"Why, yes. By the time you've gone through central booking - fingerprinting, mug shots, and the ever popular strip search - it will be after 7:00. Too late too get you on the docket for tonight. Remember, we do have twenty four hours before you have to be arraigned. Besides, if you're willing to do a dime in prison, one night in county lock up should be a piece of cake for you."

"This isn't over, Jack," Hawthorne said glaring first at Prescott, then at the glass as Stewart led her out of the room.


	17. Drinks With the D A

By the time they had left the station house, the sun was beginning to set. Brooke Prescott apologetically declined McCoy's offer to join him for a drink when she dropped him off at his motorcycle. Prescott opted instead to deliver the the long overdue balloons and birthday gift that her niece had been expecting. Half the weekend gone, still not ready to face the messages he knew were piling up on his answering machine, McCoy decided on a scotch at the _Island Mermaid _before returning to his house.

Sitting by the window he savored the first swallow of his drink, as he silently began to sort through the events of the last twenty four hours.

"From the gentleman at the end of the bar."

McCoy looked up and over as the bartender set another glass on the table. The tall Southerner gave him a mock salute as he stood, picking up his drink and moving to join him.

"You're a hard man to reach, Jack. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were avoiding me," he said sitting across from McCoy.

"Sorry, Arthur. I've been out most of the day. I had some unexpected business to attend to."

The District Attorney for New York county laughed softly.

"That's an understatement, if ever I heard one. I'm sure you've heard my news - I heard yours when Ira Levinson of the _Post _called me for a comment. Sorry about your house, Jack. Did this Diana Hawthorne say what she was after?"

McCoy looked downwards momentarily.

"Just my self respect," he joked as he to a deep breath and relied the story yet again.

Two drinks later the sun was gone and McCoy finished his tail.

"… so you see why I might not be the best choice for interim D A. There's no telling how much of this is going to end up in the press, or what else might be drudged up."

Branch nodded motioning to the bartender for another round.

"I knew Samantha Weaver was going to bite us in the ass, one way or another. The ADA handling the case - do you trust him? If not, I can call the Suffolk county D A-"

McCoy shook his head.

"That's not necessary, Arthur. Brooke Prescott is running the case. I don't know her well, but I know her reputation. Based on that and what I saw today, she's more than competent to handle this."

"Sam Prescott's widow," he asked surprised. "After Sam's murder, I figured she'd gone into hiding."

"I met her a few times when Sam was a federal prosecutor. They were at a few rubber chicken dinners Nora roped me into. After they convicted his killers, I heard she left witness protection - looks like she went right back to the D A's office."

"Well, either she's a gutsy lady - or she just doesn't give a damn now that her husband's dead," Branch said flatly. "When I think of what those drug cartel bastards did to Alexandra Cabot…. Well, if she's running your case it's in good hands."

McCoy nodded in agreement.

"Which is more than I can say about your administrative assistant."

"I still can't believe Lauren Hewitt is involved in this," Branch said quietly. "Guess it just shows you just never know what people are truly capable of."

"Arthur, don't stonewall. You need to find another-"

"Listen Jack," Branch said cutting him off. "I know this appointment doesn't seem like your cup of tea. But, I'm not letting you off the hook that easily."

"_Easily_," McCoy stammered. "Arthur if this gets out of hand, it's going to reflect not only on me, but the office and you."

"While this adds a new wrinkle to your appointment, it really doesn't change my decision. You're the best man for the job. That's the simple truth. Now, I knew your past was colorful when I threw your name in the hat. But these days, I'd be hard pressed to think of a public official that doesn't have some skeleton's in his closet.

"You like women - most of us do. This Weaver thing, it'll blow over with the next sex scandal out of D C. You've made some reckless choices professionally - every one of those choices motivated by the search for truth and justice. I may not always agree with your choices, I can't think of a time I didn't respect your reasons for those choices.

"I'll update the governor, but it's not going to change anything. I need you in the job, Jack. The question is: Are you willing to put yourself under the microscope for the public good or is your privacy too high a price to pay?"


	18. Hang Em Higher Carmichael

By the time he woke up to the sound of a ringing telephone, Sunday morning was all but gone.

McCoy groaned. The last thing he wanted was to talk. To anyone. After leaving Arthur Branch, McCoy had spent most of his evening returning a wide variety of phone calls from friends and colleagues. Calls arranging from concern about the break in, to calls interested to see whether McCoy would accept inevitable appointment of D A, now that Branch's departure was official. More irate calls came from his daughter and both ex wives.

His first wife, who remembered Diana Hawthorne from her own days in the D A's office, was particularly agitated upon hearing of her involvement. His second wife, smugly informed him in that it wasn't a crime to commiserate with another woman whose life had been ruined by Jack McCoy and that there wasn't 'a damn thing' she could be charged with.

Grudgingly, he reached for the receiver.

"McCoy," he growled, as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

"Did I wake you, Jack," the husky voice drawled hesitantly. "It's almost noon."

McCoy sat up, suddenly alert.

"Abbie," he asked with a wide grin.

"Yeah. I don't know whether to congratulate you or offer my condolences."

"Either is welcome coming from you. It's been a while. I'm surprised you still have this number."

Abbie Carmichael chuckled.

"Come on Jack, I worked with you for three years. You know I never throw anything away. Listen, have you seen the morning paper?"

"No. Arthur was out here last night. I didn't get to bed until after two," he said maneuvering the cordless receiver so as to put on his robe as he moved towards the doorway. "What now?"

"Well, it's not good. I…maybe…,"Carmichael reluctantly began.

"Abbie, beating around the bush - that's not like you," he said sharply as he reached for the paper that was waiting for him on his porch. "I'm not going to kill the messenger. Let's here it."

McCoy could hear his former assistant let out a long breath before she began describing the allegations of prosecutorial misconduct outlined in the _Washington Post. _

"They have a timeline with more than you could image on it - from your affair with Sally Bell to the last time you were brought up on charges with the disciplinary committee. Every run in you've had with the justice department," Carmichael sighed. "and this is from a reputable paper. They do try to balance it by talking about your conviction rate, the good you did in bringing the VA hospital scandal to light, but I don't even want to think about the local papers are going to dig up - God Jack, I'm so sorry.."

McCoy had been skimming the front page of the local section of _New York Times _as Carmichael spoke, the frown on his face deepening.

"Jack…are you still there?"

"I'm here. Don't sound so worried. It's not like I'm campaigning to become the new D A. You know I'm not political."

"I know that's what you like people to think," she said, her voice full of the dry wit McCoy missed since Carmichael left him to work in the Federal Prosecutor's office. "If going after the V A in the middle of a war isn't political, I don't know what is."

"Are you saying that soldiers that have already paid a terrible price for this country, should be sacrificed in the name of covering up governmental incompetence?"

Carmichael laughed.

"Careful Jack, I think you just proved my point. Come on Jack - you know you want this."

"I want to do what I do best - I want to prosecute criminals."

"You want to make a difference-"

"Make a difference," he said amused. "Abbie, this is 2007 not 1967."

"And you will," she continued, ignoring his mockery. "This is your chance to set an agenda for the office - to influence policy. You may not want it forever, but you know you won't be able to live with yourself if you don't at least give it a chance."

"You make quite a cheer leader, Abbie. But the way things are going, this appointment may not even be an issue. I may be on administrative leave by Monday afternoon," he said his eyes resting on the headline: _Appointment for Manhattan D A: McCoy Marred by Allegations of Sex Scandal._

"Don't be too sure," Carmichael said confidently. "I didn't just call to help you lick you wounds. I got a call from Judge Ross last night."

"Jamie?"

"She called me when she couldn't reach you - she said your machine was full - she couldn't leave a message. Did you know her ex husband is representing Diana Hawthorne?"

"Go on."

"Apparently, her ex dropped off their daughter early - had to see a client in Long Island. When Ross heard about your break in, she got suspicious - confronted Neil Gorton. He admitted Hawthorne was his client. She's convinced there's more to this than the media has reported. Jack, we want to help."

"Abbie, I appreciate what you and Jamie are trying to do," he said genuinely touched. "but it's going to get ugly. You both need to think about your own careers. I don't want either of you involved in this."

"First of all, it's not just us. We talked to _all_ of your assistants. Everyone form Bell to Rubirosa. The only woman that's worked for you that holds any malice towards you is a known criminal," she said confidently. "The only problem I foresee is deciding which one of us gets to take the first swing at Diana Hawthorne's credibility."

McCoy shifted on the sofa.

"You're not going to let this go, are you Abbie?'

"Nope," she said firmly. "Neither are any of the others. First of all, I don't think you realize the amount of support you have out there. Sally Bell's known you for over twenty years - she's faced you on the other side of the aisle many times, long after you two broke up. She's the one that suggested we form a united front.

" Besides, none of us want female ADA's labeled as easy pickin's. Women that make a habit out of falling into bed with their superiors. This doesn't just reflect on you and Branch, Jack. It makes the rest of us sound like hookers with law degrees."

McCoy sighed heavily. He was beginning to identify with the numerous witnesses he'd prepared over the years. Witnesses who had been weary of reliving the details of their personal hell over and over. The last thing he wanted to do was go through the story of the disc cone more time.

"So you see Abbie," he said twenty minutes later, "it's better for all of you to just let this play out."

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. McCoy waited for the tongue lashing he was sure Carmichael would be well equipped to give him.

"Hawthorne has a background in surveillance - she more than likely planned to edit that tape, put in some choice phrases that make it sound like you forced Weaver into a sexual relationship. With you in the D A's spot, you'd have discretion to re file those murder charges. They could have tried to make it look like you were blackmailing her."

"Arthur and I talked about that possibility last night."

"But Jack, they never had the chance to edit that disc. That's in the possession of the D A prosecuting Hawthorne. All they really have is what's in your past - lively, but hardly criminal. I'll bet they have something to do with the press having so many details on you so fast- I mean you haven't even officially accepted the appointment yet. I'll bet your friend, Samantha Weaver is going to be mighty upset when she finds out the lengths she went to on this little plan were for nothing."

McCoy shook his head in amazement.

"That's it? I don't get taken to the wood shed for not keeping it in my pants?"

Carmichael snickered.

"You kept it in your pants around me - that's where my interest what you do with your …attributes, ends. Besides," she said seriously, "I'm a rape survivor. Using sex as a weapon trivializes real sex crimes. I think there should be special place in hell for women like Samantha Weaver and Diana Hawthorne and I'd be happy to send them both there."


	19. Jack & his Assistants

Jack McCoy stood with Arthur Branch and the mayor of New York on the courthouse steps the next morning. Branch had left the place and time of McCoy's first press conference up to him. He chose the steps of the building he had spent almost half his life in. The building he spent doing what he loved doing most, seemed like the natural place to announce the next step in a career that spanned his entire adult life.

There were news camera's, reporters, and security staff as far as the eye could see. More media attention then during the highest of McCoy's high profile murder trials. After ten minutes of congratulations and good humored joking, the vultures swooped in for the kill.

The questions came fast and furious. To McCoy's credit, his answers were equally quick and sharp. After more than ninety minutes, his patience was about to give out. Just as he was ready to start dealing with the press more like John McCoy Senior would have, his reprieve came.

As the nine immaculately attired women made their way up the steps, five of the nine carrying what looked like mail bags, the group of reporters moved like a swarm of locusts. The Branch and McCoy stepped beside the pillars at the top of the stairs. The mayor introduced the groups spokeswoman. McCoy couldn't help but grin as his former lover moved to the microphone, moving with same confident swagger she had had since the first day she walked had into his office, many years ago.

He knew these reporters didn't stand a chance in hell against this formidable group of women.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Sally Bell. This morning I, along with my colleagues; The honorable Judge Jamie Ross, The honorable Judge Elizabeth Donnelly, Federal Prosecutor Abigail Carmichael, Assistant District Attorney for Manhattan Consuela Rubirosa, Former Assistant District Attorney for Manhattan and current Gay and Lesbian Civil Rights Attorney Serena Southerlyn, Defense Attorneys Danielle Melnick, Michelle Kates, and Ruth Miller have the rare honor of congratulating a former colleague and adversary, on his well deserved appointment to the office of District Attorney of New York county.

"Women from a vast range of the legal spectrum support John James McCoy as the new District Attorney of New York County. We support him and will lay to rest any doubts those you may have about his ability to represent the people of this county in a manner that will bring respect, honor, and most importantly justice to the people.

Doubts that have been brought on by the words and actions of individuals with agendas that have nothing to do with the protection of the rights of the people. Individuals , who you will see in the course our statements, who have morals far more questionable than a man who has spent the better part of a lifetime dedicating himself to the pursuit of justice.

"John James McCoy has tirelessly put the needs of the people before his own. As you will hear Mr. McCoy has helped imprison dangerous criminals who have committed unspeakable crimes upon the residents of Manhattan. Some of those criminals being people he had once called colleague, friend, and yes, lover - putting aside personal loyalties, in order to further his search for the truth.

"He has watched as colleagues have fallen at the hands of criminal organizations like drug cartels and not, like so many former members of the justice system, left the system out of fear for his or his families personal safety. He has been the victim of not only of stalking by criminals he has tried to keep off our streets, but as recently as last year, Jack McCoy has been a target on an assassins hit list."

"That's one hell of a fan club you've got there Jack," the Mayor said with quiet admiration. "Maybe you should think about using this appointment as a stepping stone to delve further into the political arena?"

McCoy and Branch exchanged looks, watching as one by one women from his past and present acknowledged the kind of man Jack McCoy was personally and professionally. Questions about Diana Hawthorne, prosecutorial misconduct, sexual harassment in the workplace all laid to rest eloquently and with flawless documentation.

McCoy found himself particularly moved by his ex wife's unhesitating endorsement of his parenting abilities, when she was confronted with the article regarding the nearly decade long silence, between McCoy and his daughter.

Before she began her reply, Judge Elizabeth Donnelly gave the reporter a stare that made the mayor involuntarily shiver. Branch and McCoy exchanged knowing looks. Her dark eyes bore into the reporter.

"Although the office my ex husband is being appointed to is that of District Attorney, not father of the year, I can assure you he is more than qualified for both. Like many families, ours had a serious disagreement between parent and child. While it would have been much easier for Jack to have given into the demands of a rebellious teenager, he chose to do what was best for our daughter, Rebecca and not what was easy for himself. He sent her the message that with choice comes responsibility. The same message he will send to those who choose to break society's laws."

When Serena Southerlyn gave testimony to the high standards that were held by the D A 's office in the four years she served, McCoy could see the look of surprise on Arthur Branch's face. A look that seemed to hold a trace of regret as Southerlyn weathered questions about her dismissal with assertions that she had been treated fairly and respectfully by both Branch and McCoy.

It was Abbie Carmichael's uncharacteristically emotional disclosure of not only the damage false allegations bring to real victims, but her unexpected acknowledgement of her own rape and the support she had been given by him, that brought tears to McCoy's eyes as well as even the most cynical journalist.

Jamie Ross was the last to speak to the crowd. The mail bags brought that had been let off to the side, were brought forward by security officers.

"…should there still be any doubt in your minds about the integrity and commitment Jack McCoy has to uphold the law fairly and without prejudice, you will find signed affidavits from organizations ranging Children's Services to the Veterans of Foreign Wars, as well as from individuals associated with the criminal justice system, that were unable to attend today's gathering. In twenty four hours, we were able to obtain endorsements by approximately four thousand individuals and groups within Manhattan. That in itself should lay to rest any lingering doubts any of you have about this appointment."

As Arthur Branch opened another bottle of champagne, Sally Bell reached into the bottom drawer of Jack McCoy's desk.

"If you know him at all Senator Branch, you know this is like mother's milk to Jack," Bell joked as she took the paper cup out of McCoy hand, replacing it with a glass of scotch.

"Here's to you Sally," McCoy said holding the scotch in one hand, Bell by the waist, with the other. "Here's to all of you - what you did today - goes beyond the boundaries of friendship. I can't even begin to-"

"No, Jack," Danielle Melnick interjected forcefully. "This is your day - to District Attorney Jack McCoy!"

McCoy brought his drink to his lips, surveying the office he had worked in for the last thirteen years. The room was packed with not only the speakers from that morning, but well wishers from all over the district attorney's office. The crowd flowed from his office out into the hallway.

Bell looked up giving him a hug.

"I'm sorry to have to drink and run, but I have a motion hearing in Judge Simons office in half hour," she said as she kissed his cheek. "It's been a wild ride, hasn't it McCoy?"

"That it has - you have no idea how much what you did means to me. Thank you Sally."

Bell gave him a grin as she moved towards the door.

"Just don't think this means I've gone soft, Jack. Come Tuesday, morning I'm gonna fight your office like hell on the Brewer case."

"I wouldn't expect anything less from you, Sally."

"Do yourself a favor Connie", she said touching Rubirosa's arm. "try to work out a plea with me before we see Judge Rivera. Call me.."

McCoy moved towards the door as well making apologies to Jamie Ross, who had been speaking to Connie Rubirosa, as he steered his assistant out the door.

"What is it Jack?"

"Two things: First, I want you to know you didn't have to do what you did today."

Rubirosa looked at him with puzzlement.

"Didn't have to? I never do anything I don't want to do Jack. We've had our run battles, but that doesn't mean I think any less of you or your abilities."

"Connie, you tried to tell me about Samantha Weaver. You told me more than once -"

"Jack," she said sharply. "One thing as nothing to do with the other. If I didn't think you were the best choice for D A, I wouldn't have been out there today."

McCoy held her tightly as he said, "you are a hard one to peg. Thank you , Connie."

"Now, what's the second thing?"

McCoy grinned.

"We need to talk about who your new EADA is going to be."

"Hey, McCoy," Shelly Kates called from the door way. "haven't you learned _anything_? Quick hitting on your assistant and get in here - Suffolk county ADA is on her way up."


	20. Suffolk County DA Comes a Callin'

Brooke Prescott stepped off the elevator, pausing to read the directory on the wall beside it.

"Brooke?"

Prescott grinned in recognition, as she turned.

"Abbie," she said embracing Carmichael. "Gosh, it's good to see you."

"You too. I guess you're here to see my old boss?"

"I didn't know you worked for Jack McCoy - hey, be honest with me- how much of what I'm reading is fact verses fiction?"

Carmichael grinned.

"Maybe I should do what Jamie Ross did with me - let you find out for yourself."

"Abbie, I'm probably going to end up calling the man as a witness before the Hawthorne case is over - ya gotta give him up."

Carmichael sighed.

"If you were in town this morning, you must have heard about the press conference. Women that have known him through out his career have thrown their support behind him. I'm not going to lie to you Brooke - the man can be as arrogant and stubborn as he is charming. He definitely enjoys a challenge - professionally and personally. But is he a predictor - hardly. Next subject?"

"How are things in D C?"

"Political," Carmichael said with a smirk.

"Yeah - Sam used to say there were two challenges to seeing a case through over there: Keeping you witnesses alive long enough to testify and getting case to verdict before some politician had a chance to use it to grand standing for the voters. Knowing you, I have no doubt you're more than meeting both of those challenges."

"Thanks. Even though I only worked with him a few months Brooke, I still miss Sam. The guys in training still use a lot of his cases to train new prosecutors when they come on board. How are you doing? Last I heard, you'd gone back to the D A 's office. Anymore contact with the Volenski family?"

A hard look washed over Prescott's face as she shook her head.

"If he had half the brains he supposed to have, Vladimir Volenski would have killed me then.Or used me a leverage against Sam. Moron just brought the wrath of every the law enforcement agency on the east coast down on himself when he killed Sam. "

"I'm so sorry, Brooke,"

Prescott squeezed her hand.

"No, I'm sorry Abbie," she said looking at the cup in Carmichael hand. "Obviously Mr. McCoy's made it official - I didn't mean to put a damper on the celebration. Can you tell me where I might find him?"

As he rummaged through his desk drawers, a voice from the door way caused McCoy to look up.

"I guess I'm a long way from Kansas, McCoy. In my neck of the woods, it's a red letter day when we hand out sparkling cider, not California champagne."

McCoy stuck his glasses in the pocket of his shirt and straightened his loosened tie. He grabbed a file folder and his glass. He smiled as moved from behind the desk to the woman leaning against the door frame, plastic cup in hand.

"Mrs. Prescott, this is a pleasant surprise."

"Looks like you stopped stalling and called Senator Branch. Congratulations Mr. District Attorney," she said setting her brief case down to extend her hand.

"Out of the frying pan into the fire," he said as he held her hand. "I don't suppose you made the trip out here just to help me celebrate?"

" I've been leaving messages with your receptionist since 9:30. When you didn't return my calls, I figured put you on my to do list. For future reference - can I get your cell phone or pager number?"

"Good luck selling him on either one ," Serena Southerlyn interjected with a chuckle. "It took me two years to get Jack to even think about opening his email - as for a cell phone - I'll bet if you were to open his bottom drawer, you'd find the one I bought him for Christmas three years ago, is still sitting in the box. Hey Connie, does Jack actually carry his peeper during the work day now?"

Rubirosa joined the three some by the doorway, smirking.

"Do you want the official answer to that question or are you searching for the truth? What does he need with a peeper when he has an assistant, right Jack," Rubirosa said jokingly.

"You know I check my email twice a day. As for cell phones," McCoy said defensively, "if it's really important, people find me."

"Yeah," Prescott chimed in. "If they want you badly enough, a person can join the unwashed masses on the Long Island Railroad - problem solved."

_**You** are hardly part of the unwashed masses, _McCoy thought, giving Prescott an appraising stare. The disheveled look of Prescott's linen suit - dark green, single breasted jacket open, exposing the soft yellow shell with a scooped neckline - and her hair, the auburn locks falling loosely just past her shoulders, only served to make her more desirable in his eyes.

"I've been out of the office most of the day," McCoy said smiling. "I haven't had a chance to check my messages yet - it's been a little chaotic around here today."

"Jack, aren't you going to introduce us," Rubirosa reminded him.

"ADA Connie Rubirosa and former ADA Serena Southerlyn, Suffolk county ADA Brooke Prescott. Brooke's handling the Hawthorne case."

As hand shakes went around, McCoy frowned as he finished his drink.

"I hate to break this up, but your visit obviously means you have an update on the case," he said taking her arm. "Let's see if I can find us someplace quieter to talk."

Prescott set her briefcase down on the conference room table, as McCoy closed the door.

"She's out on bail," she said before he could ask. "Neil Gorton high tailed himself over for her arraignment. He had a cashiers check for $100,000.00. More than enough for Hawthorne to make bail. As for Weaver, NYPD is still trying to help us locate her - no sign of her at the Hilton."

McCoy nodded.

"That would have been too easy."

"Yeah, then there's Hawthorne's legal counsel," she said sitting on the edge of the table beside him. "You want to tell me how someone like Diana Hawthorne ends up with the senior partner of_ Gorton &Steinhart_ representing her on what should be a slam dunk burglary case? What don't I know?"

McCoy looked up into the steady blue grey eyes, trying not to think about the smell of her perfume.

"Simply put: Neil Gorton doesn't like losing. Especially to his ex wife and her boss. Do you remember the Eddie Newman case?"

"You mean that guy that cut up his ex wife? God Jack it sounded more like mafia hit, than an something a former spouse would even think of doing."

"That's the one. I'm sure it would give Gorton a great deal of pleasure to watch me squirm - even if that means helping Diana Hawthorne gratis."

"Humm. What's ya got there," she asked looking at his hand.

"I was going to fax you copies of the Weaver file and Diana's case. You might find something there you can use."

"Thanks," she said taking the file, looking up as his hand held hers a little longer than need be.

"By the way would you consider it harassment, if I were to tell you that you look quite attractive, in spite of the unwashed masses?"

She smiled up at him, gently freeing her hand.

"You're drunk, aren't you Jack?"

McCoy flushed his eyes dropping.

"I'm Irish, Mrs. Prescott. It takes more than a glass of champagne to get me drunk."

"Really," she said lifting his face to eye level.

McCoy's smiled slyly, as his hand reached for her chin. Prescott smiled back at him as he moved closer.

"Jack?"

"Yes?"

"That isn't champagne I smell on your breath is it," she asked shaking her head as she stood up, stepping away from him. "hard liquor on what I'll bet is an empty stomach?"

"I didn't realize you were a member of the Suffolk county temperance society,"he said dryily.

"That's just stupid,"she said ignoring his remark."More than stupid for a man in your position."

"If I'm a stupid drunk, then I guess I can't be held accountable for my actions can I counselor," he said suggestively as he leaned down.

"Ya know what, why don't you call me after you've had some lunch," she said turning towards the door.

"You said something the last time I saw you - something about being too afraid," he said knowing what her reaction would be.

As she swing around to face him, McCoy reached out placing a hand behind her head as his lips tenderly brushed hers. He didn't know which surprised him more: The brief moment he felt her respond to his kiss, the force in the slap across his face or the feel of the side arm holstered on her left side.

"Damn it Jack, "she said her voice cordial. "see what you made me do? Now your gonna have to figure out how to explain that hand print to the press."

"I suppose it's better than explaining how I ended up with a bullet in the brain."

Prescott smiled sweetly.

"It wouldn't be _that _head that I'd aim for - I'd go for the one you seem to be thinking with right now."

McCoy gave her a look.

"Do you mind explaining how you got up here with a fire arm?"

"Don't worry - you're security is first rate," she said reassuringly. "Your guys wouldn't let me anywhere near you until they confirmed that my carry permit was genuine with Albany. Hell, it takes me three times as long as it should to go anywhere with security."

"I'd of thought you be safe after…"

"I probably am, but you of all people should know what nut jobs some of these drug lords are. I've been carrying since the protective detail was reassigned - I try to play the whole thing down. Please don't say anything to Abbie," she said seriously. "Now, about your face-"

"A little ice and I'll be good as news," he said rubbing his cheek.

She shook her head, amusement winning out over annoyance.

"You sound like you've had some experience with this sort of thing before?"

"Occasionally," he said nonchalantly. "You should be safe walking the streets of Manhattan - you've got some power in that hand of yours."

Prescott raised her eyes brows.

"Gotta be ready - never know when the big bad wolf is going to come knocking on your door."

McCoy snickered at her remark.

"Is that a general observation or should I take it you believe what you've read in the papers?"

"Actions speak louder than words, don't they Jack?"

"I suppose an apology is in order," he said seriously. "I'm not going to deny I find you attractive Brooke, but what I did was inappropriate. It won't happen again," he said as he leaned against the conference table.

" I don't know what you were thinking, Jack. You just got through dodging a bullet with that damn disc. Half of Manhattan is out trying to clean up your reputation , while the other half it seems, is trying to throw dirt at you."

"I was thinking that a busy woman like yourself doesn't spend most of her day away from the office, personally chasing down evidence and updating a victim," he said bluntly.

"You are arrogant aren't you?"

"I've been called that - I call it being without pretense," he said seriously. "If I promise to keep things strictly professional, would you join me for dinner? Before you answer - I'd like you to meet Gorton's ex - Jamie Ross might know something we don't about his connection to Diana."

Prescott hesitated for a moment. She reached for her briefcase and pulled out her cell phone.

"I don't have a problem with that - but I have a condition. You see, when I said you were on my to do list - I didn't expect you to take me literally. I didn't just come to Manhattan to personally up date you on your case. After I finished with my meeting with Fontana and Jeffries I spent the rest of the day over at One Police Plaza, running down leads for another couple of cases. I figured I'd be done early enough to meet an old friend for dinner - would you mind if he joined us?"

"That's your decision, but I think it might be a little boring for him- is your friend an attorney?"

"Actually you might know him, he used to work in the D A 's office while Adam Schiff was DA. Do you remember working with a Ben Stone?"


	21. Drinks Before Dinner With Ben

_Major thanks to SugarKane (Clearbell at Live Journal) for her help capturing Ben Stone in as accurate a light as possible. I used a bit of her original ideas (such as his choice of a second wife) because these ideas seem like natural conclusions to life after Hogan Place for Ben._

Brooke Prescott scanned the dining room. She smiled, recognizing the figure that stood near the back of the room and moved towards him. They embraced warmly before sitting down at the table for four.

"You owe me big time for this," he said with a faint smile.

"No price is too high to pay if it means seeing you, Ben. You know I rarely get into to Manhattan. I didn't want to pass up the opportunity to spend sometime with my favorite professor."

Stone sighed.

"How long do we have before the others arrive?"

"Oh, I'd say," she said glancing at her watch. "at least twenty minutes. Judge Ross had some business back at the courthouse and Mr. McCoy…well, I'm sure Mr. McCoy could use a some time to reflect on the events of the day."

The fleeting half smile on Prescott's face didn't go un noticed by Stone.

"Should I ask?"

"No,you shouldn't" she said firmly. "I'd much rather hear about you. How's your daughter?"

"She's great. She's been working in the Paris office this past year. After finals, I'm going to fly out and spend a few days with her. After that, I'm on to Australia the annual conference for Reprieve."

"Sounds like a busy summer. How's Shambala?"

He smiled as he often did when he thought of his current wife.

"Shambala is Shambala - still trying to change the world, one case at time. She sends her regrets. She's a presenter at the Trials Lawyers Association seminar in Dallas. She won't be back in town until next week. She's presenting a workshop on the Five Most Common Mistakes Made by District Attorney's."

Prescott chuckled.

"Sounds like something Shambala would sink her teeth into."

"Can I bring either of you something from the bar," asked the waiter who now stood between them.

Stone looked inquiringly at Prescott.

"I already had champagne this afternoon - maybe something light… Madori and soda?'

"A glass of your house merlot." Stone's blue eyes looked at her with humor. "Champagne - sounds like Arthur Branch went all out for Jack McCoy's victory celebration."

Prescott laughed.

"Well, I'd hardly call a few cases of California's best a deficit breaker. What are your thoughts his appointment, Ben?"

Stone thought a moment, waiting for the waiter to return with their drinks. He studied the glass a moment, thoughtfully taking a swallow of its contents.

"Jack's called 'Hang 'Em High' McCoy with good reason. He's a diligent prosecutor. He's like a dog with a bone. If he's trying a case he fights for a conviction with everything he's got."

"But?"

Stone shifted his gaze from his glass to her eyes.

"No 'buts' professionally - he'll make a capable District Attorney. Adam had enough time to smooth out most of the rough edges. Personally? He can be a real son of a bitch. Personally, I wish it had been Jack in that car and not Claire Kincaid. Personally, I hope you have the good sense to not be mesmerized by that idiot and his dime store charm."

Prescott cocked her head to the side studying her friend carefully.

"Ben, I think your concern might be slightly misplaced. The man does have one or two more pressing things on his agenda these days, than persuing me. Besides, I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

Like a lamb to the slaughter, he thought miserably.

"Brooke, know it's been almost five years since you lost Sam. I'm sure that seems like an eternity to you. But a man like Jack can sense ….," he sighed with frustration as he unsuccessfully tried to articulate the danger he perceived. "Jack is going to view your lack of interest as a challenge. He can be very charming - until he gets what he's after."

"You'll be able to judge for yourself as to whether I've fallen victim to the boyish charms of Jack McCoy, soon enough. He did mention your old assistant - I didn't realize she was the same 'Claire' at the time. Ben, he's still mourning her."

"Good! Why should he be any different than the rest of us who knew her?"

"I have to admit, I'm more than a little concerned by your bitterness. It's not like you, Ben. Remember when we met? At that God awful Bar Association luncheon - what - twenty years ago? You were uncompromising back then, as well as steady and fair. I've always admired that steadiness. What is it about this man that rattles you so?"

Stone drank a bit more of the wine, seeming to debate his response.

"First there's his relationship with Claire - I know, half of Manhattan will tell you Jack never coerced anyone into bed - which is probably true. But, Claire was young. Too young to know what she was getting into with a middle aged borderline alcoholic, that had been around the block more times than I can count," he paused. "There's also the mess he helped make of Diana Hawthorne's life."

Prescott looked away from Stone, playing with the tall, thin straw in her glass.

"Slippery slop here, Ben. You know I'm prosecuting her. This can be off the record, to a point."

"I remember the rules, Brooke. I watched a brilliant young woman full of promise ruin herself over that man. I don't know how much either of them as told you about their relationship, but she was like a lovesick puppy. When he took her to Ireland after the Dillard trial, the whole office knew that trip would be the beginning of the end for her. Not a month after they got back, she resigned. She didn't even see it coming."

"I'm sure Jack McCoy is more than capable of being a scoundrel, but maybe Diana would have had a clearer head if she hadn't been busy railroading Andrew Dillard."

"What she did was inexcusable. So was the way she was treated. Did Jack really think she would just quietly go to prison, lose her lively hood, and never be heard from again?"

"Have you seen her since the burglary?"

"I have. She's in over her head, Brooke," he said grimly. "I've urged her to talk to you before she ends up taking a bigger fall than she already has. Weaver and Gorton play in the big leagues. She knows my feelings about keeping Gorton as her counsel."

"Which are?"

"She'll regret it. I've told her, if she's ready to come clean and plead out, I'd represent her."

Prescott looked at Stone wide eyed, her mouth gaping.

"Did you make that offer out of concern for a former colleague you feel was wronged or out of guilt because of what happened to Claire Kincaid?"

Before Stone could reply he found himself reacting as he often had to the sound of Jack McCoy's raspy, self assured voice. His body immediately tensing.


	22. Dinner & Just Desserts

_Once again, thanks to SugarKane for her much appreciated assistance with Ben!_

"Ben Stone - it's been a long time."

Stone stood and shook the hand of the man he hadn't seen in more than a decade. McCoy made the introductions as Judge Jaime Ross sat in the empty chair beside Stone. Stone participated in the usual get acquainted chat, observing that while the hair was a bit lighter, the face a little more weary, the only discernible difference in his former coworker seemed to be the strange reddening of McCoy's left cheek. At least until the waiter arrived to take drink orders. Stone couldn't help but do a double take.

"Soda and lemon," Stone said with amusement. "Who are you - and what have you done with Jack McCoy?"

McCoy shrugged his shoulders.

"We've got business to discuss," he said giving Prescott a sideways glance, the hint of a smile playing on his lips, as he rubbed his cheek. "I wouldn't want to get any signals crossed. That might to lead to some misinterpretation, on my part."

Prescott put a hand to her mouth as she nearly spit her drink across the table. Ross and Stone exchanged knowing glances.

_What the hell? He's still trying to seduce every woman that crosses his path,_ Stone thought with an increasing sense of annoyance.

Once the drinks arrived, the group ordered dinner. Stone and the others listened carefully as Ross relayed Neil Gorton's probable motives for his involvement with Diana Hawthorne.

"…he made himself pretty clear. This is about sticking it to Jack," she said flatly. "Neil's going to pull all the stops out to play that disc in open court - and he'll be sure that gallery is packed with reporters to see it."

Stone raised an eyebrow.

"I assume this disc contains something that will be compromising for Jack. If Diana was caught in the act of retrieving it, won't the humiliation it causes Jack, be over shadowed by the damage it will do to Gorton's case? He'd be strengthening the prosecutions case by demonstrating there was a strong motive for Diana's actions."

"I'm sure Neil thinks if this trial gets sensational enough," Ross replied, "there will be grounds for a mistrial or even an acquittal. Especially if he can paint his client as some sort of victim."

"Doesn't he consider the possibility that this kind of grand standing could back fire and send his client to prison," asked Prescott.

"Dining with the enemy, Jamie? Well," Neil Gorton said snidely directing his gazed at McCoy, "I guess it's better than _sleeping _with the enemy."

"Maybe you should be less concerned about my actions and start concerning yourself with what your daughter's going to think about yours," Ross said clearly annoyed. "Katie's not a little girl anymore, Neil. She reads the papers. If you continue this idiotic vendetta, she's going to see you for the self serving prick you are."

"Katie's away at Stanford," Gorton said unruffled as he handed Prescott the envelope he held. "Besides, I didn't come over here to fight with you Jamie. When I saw Ms. Prescott, I thought I'd save myself the messenger fee and hand deliver my notification of a charge of plea."

"It's 'Mrs.' not 'Ms.', Mr. Gorton," Prescott said as she skimmed the documents.

"My mistake. It's so rare these days to meet a woman not only willing to take the name of the man she marries, but to keep it longer than a cheap pair of shoes."

"Maybe that's because it's so rare to find a man that is willing to honor his marriage vows longer than it takes to say 'Motel Six', " Ross said sweetly.

"Mr. Gorton - your client was caught in the act of burglarizing Mr. McCoy's house - I have a witness that puts her there," Prescott said shaking her head as she placed the documents in her briefcase. "How in the world can you expect a jury to find her innocent?"

Gorton flashed her a shark like grin.

"That would be telling, now wouldn't it, Mrs. Prescott. Enjoy your evening."

As Gorton turned on his heel, Ross placed a hand on Stone's sleeve.

"Gee Ben, doesn't a scene like that make you wish you were still dealing with defense lawyers like my ex?"

"A lawyer that is willing to use a client to his own means is beyond unethical. Having the chance to bring someone like your ex husband to his knees in court would have given me great satisfaction and personal pleasure, Jamie."

"In that cases," McCoy said with sincerity that surprised Stone, "maybe you should consider coming back to the D A's office."

Stone sat back in his chair, meeting McCoy's challenging gaze.

Ross and Prescott took the lull in the conversation as an opportunity to excuse themselves, leaving the two free to drop polite pretense.

"You know that's an offer I'd never accept Jack," Stone said bluntly, "and I'm sure I don't have to tell you why."

McCoy reached for his drink, silently aching for a scotch.

"Something along the lines of it would be a cold day in hell before you worked for the man you hold responsible for Claire's death," McCoy asked quietly. "Same old Ben. Still as sanctimonious as ever. In this case, I can't say you're wrong."

Stone was unimpressed.

"That's good to know. I'd of thought you'd have learned something about sleeping with your assistants, after Diana. Maybe it's a good thing for you that accident happened when it did," Stone said accusingly. The last time I spoke to Claire, she told me about that trip you were planning together, for after the execution. I didn't have the heart to tell her that was you standard kiss off ritual. At least Claire died thinking you gave a damn about her."

McCoy started to leave his chair, fists clenched.

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about Stone," McCoy said looking as if he'd taken a blow.

McCoy grabbed his briefcase and threw some money on the table.

"To hell with what you think," he said his pager beginning to beep, as the two women rejoined them.

"Jack?"

"I'm sorry Jamie," he started through clenched teeth.

"No. I mean, I know why you're being paged," Ross said. "Brooke just took a call on her cell from Connie. The 2 7 called your office. A body that washed up on the shore last night as just been identified as Diana Hawthorne."


	23. Regrets

_Alright...I once again have gotten carried away, so I'm breaking this chapter roughly in half. I hope it's worth the wait. Please let me know if it's too wordy. _

"She used to have a sister in Albany," McCoy said, his eyes fixed on the body laying on the metal table. "I still have… I should call…"

"Hawthorne's emergency contact information was still in the system from her time in Bedford," said Detective Green. " Cassady's calling the sister now."

"Any theories as to the cause of death, Doctor," he asked the weary woman in scrubs, fighting to keep his voice steady.

"I'll know more when the lab work comes back in the morning. Preliminary exam indicates a blunt force trauma to the head. From the looks of her lungs, she was dead before she hit the water." Rogers paused, exchanging guarded looks with Green. McCoy's face growing alarmingly ashen. "Maybe we should continue this outside."

"Time of death," McCoy asked making no effort to move.

"Rough estimate? Somewhere between midnight and six a m Monday morning," Rogers said as she pulled the sheet back over the lifeless body of Diana Hawthorne.

"Joe Fontana has been working with the Suffolk county sheriff to locate Samantha Weaver," McCoy said as he faced Green. "He and Monique Jeffries might have some leads to share with you. I assume you know where to reach Fontana?"

Green nodded.

"Joe and I have kept in touch, since he left the 2 7. I'll call him when we're done here."

"Jack, you look exhuasted. Go home and get some rest. We'll all know more in the morning," Rogers said they entered the hallway.

Brooke Prescott looked up as the door closed. Concluding her call, she closed her phone and joined the others.

"Detective Green. I've just spoken to the Suffolk county sheriff's office. You'll have copies of everything they've got, as well as the files from my office," she said taking a card from her pocket, "when you reach your precinct. If there's anything else you need give me a call."

Green nodded placing her card in his pocket.

"Did your guys go over Hawthorne's apartment?"

Prescott shook her head.

"Charges didn't warrant it."

"Jack," Rogers said firmly, "I don't think you should be alone right now. Maybe-"

"I'm just a little light headed - your call caught us before we had dinner," McCoy said brusquely. "I just need some air."

"Jack before you go, I need to ask you a few more questions," Green said shifting uncomfortably. "From everything I've heard tonight, it sounds like you and Ms. Hawthorne -"

McCoy sighed.

"I was in Ocean Beach all night Sunday," he said wearily. "I got back to the house around seven. Stayed until I left for work Monday morning, around six. The surveillance cameras Fontana installed will verify that, detective."

"I had to ask. Part of the drill," Green said matter of factly."I can drop either of you-"

"Mrs. Prescott needs to catch a train. I'll talk to you both tomorrow," he said as he turned to Prescott. "Detective Green will make sure you get to the Penn Station."

"Jack, Dr. Rogers is right. You're obviously not thinking-"

"Brooke, I'm sorry," he said moving towards the open elevator doors. "I can't do this now. Just go with Detective Greene. I'm fine."

"That isn't a good idea," Green said uneasily to the two women, as the doors closed.

Prescott nodded .

"I'll see that he gets home. We don't have much on her whereabouts, but based on what we know about their association, you may want to look at Samantha Weaver. She may not be the killer, but she might be able to point you in the right direction."

"McCoy filled us in."

"Then I guess were done," she said starting down the hall, "Good luck."

Prescott followed the sound of gaging and dry heaves. She found him sitting on the curb his head in his hands, as the warm evening breeze furiously whipped through his hair.

"This isn't your fault,"she said softly as she sat beside him Her eyes fell on what had obviously been the contents of McCoy's stomach, a few feet from where he sat.

"The hell it isn't. Ben was right," he said not bothering to look up. His voice barely audible. "If I hadn't played with her life, Diana... if I hadn't...maybe Claire.."

"What else could you have done? She compromised a murder investagation. You had no choice. You had to prosecute."

McCoy looked up at her sharply.

"You know what I meant."

She nodded her head.

"I suppose I do," she said as she sat down beside him.

They sat silently until the sound of the cab coming to a stop caused McCoy to looked up, as if he'd forgotten we wasn't alone.

"I called for a cab," she explained as she stood, holding her hand out. "Come on Jack."

"You take it," he said running a hand through his hair. "It's late. You've got to get back-"

"Last train left over an hour ago. Your M E is right. You shouldn't be alone. Let's get you home."

McCoy shook his head.

"I don't need a babysitter," he said sharply.

"Good," she said undaunted. "The sooner I drop you off, the sooner I can find a hotel and get some sleep."

"Damn it, Brooke... I know you're trying to help-"

"You can yell and swear all you want, but I'm not leaving you on the street. Period. We both have places to be in the morning, so unless you want to be sworn in as District Attorney in yesterdays clothes, I suggest you get in the damn cab."

As the cab made it's way towards the Westside, McCoy stared out the window.Too involved in the emotional beating he was giving himself, to find the energy to fight being 'baby sat'.

Prescott wasn't entirely comfortbale intruding on McCoy's private turmoil. In the back of her mind, she knew she was going to pay Tuesday morning when she went to work on, at best five hours sleep. But, there was something all too framiliar to her about the blame he was determined to place on his shoulders, for her to leave him to deal with alone.

Neither of them spoke for several minutes.

"Ben was right. I had no business getting involved with her…," he said his deep voice almost a whisper. "I knew she'd want more than I could give. I'd already been down that road, with my wife.…I knew where things were going to end. With Diana….with Claire…"

"Ben is in no position to judge you, especially about Claire."

McCoy looked at her curiously.

"They were involved? I wondered. She went through so much with Joel Thayer...I never asked. "

"I can't answer that."

"Can't or won't," he asked automatically.

Prescott smiled at the strategy she knew so well.

"Ben has a good heart. He cares deeply about his friends and his family. I know Shambala is his life now," she said thoughtfully. "You two are more a like than either of you would admit."

McCoy raised an eyebrow.

"Have you ran that theory by Ben," he asked. He smiled in spite of himself, imagining Stone's reaction.

"Ben carries around his own guilt about Claire. Both of you think your actions set her destiny into motion. As prosecutors, we know people make there own destiny." she said sympathetically. "As individuals, it's easy to lose sight of that. I used think if I'd followed through, Sam would be alive."

McCoy looked at her questioningly.

"After those bastards killed a witness…when the protective detail started… I told him to drop the case or I'd leave him."

She laughed at the astonished look on his face.

"You made him choose between you and the law?"

Prescott shook her head, a far away look in her eyes.

"Don't be so dramatic, Jack. You knew Sam. Nobody_ made _that man do anything. The one thing he loved more than the law was me. He called by bluff. Started packing my bags. He told me knowing I was safe would be make losing me worth the cost," she shook her head and sighed. "Slick son of bitch. He always knew how to beat me at my own game."

"Brooke, this isn't ... the circumstanes are different-"

"Maybe so, but no matter what the circumstances, no one person controls fate. Everyone makes choices that dirve their future. Whether it's choosing to gain a lover's approval through deceit, doing what you think is right even if it could cost you your life...or helping a friend, by giving them a ride home."


	24. A Good Man is hard to Find

Prescott removed her jacket as McCoy opened the living room windows, letting the evening breeze into the stuffy apartment.

"No air conditioning?"

"Compressor went out last week," he said shrugging his shoulders. "My guess is the replacement part is coming from Pluto."

McCoy's living room looked as unkempt as she felt after almost twenty four hours in the same clothing. She smiled at the over flowing book case and the cluttered desk in the corner. Prescott picked up the framed picture on the desk, recognizing the subject as the as young woman whose pictures had been on the fireplace mantel in McCoy's beach house.

When had they arrived in front of McCoy's building, it was almost one a m. After debating the wisdom of staying at what McCoy referred to as one of those 'cockroach infested motels' by Penn Station, Prescott grudgingly accepted his offer to stay the night in his guest room. Although Ben Stone's warnings echoed in the back of her mind she had been swayed by two other factors: The feeling that McCoy's desire to be alone had been replaced an apparent desire for companionship - hence the unforeseen invitation to his apartment- and the gnawing sense of hunger in the pit of her stomach.

"I should have insisted that you go with Ben and Jamie when they dropped us at the M E's office," he said from the kitchen. "At least one of us would have had a decent dinner. I hope you like your eggs scrambled."

"You know I wanted to hear what your ME had to say," she said setting the picture down and inhaling the heavenly smell emulating from the kitchen. "As for the eggs, at this point, even raw sounds good."

McCoy came out of the kitchen, setting two plates on the coffee table. Afterwards he removed his suit jacket and tie, setting them on the back of one of the wing chairs in front of the desk.

"Something to drink?"

Prescott thought a moment.

"Maybe a brandy and soda - very light on the brandy, if you have it?"

McCoy smiled.

"Brandy it is."

Prescott followed him back to the kitchen, helping to bring in the condiments while he began mixing the drinks.

Prescott savored her first mouth full of the eggs, as McCoy returned. He set the glasses down as he joined her on the sofa.

"Well?"

"Humm…good. Better than good…Delicious," she said appreciatively, between mouthfuls. "If this D A thing doesn't work out, maybe you should consider the becoming Executive Chef at the Four Seasons. Thank you for cooking, especially with the heat."

"My pleasure, besides I should be thanking you, "he said seriously. "I've been acting like a jerk. This whole thing…Diana showing up out of nowhere…Samantha Weaver-"

She shook her head in protest.

"Forget it. It's not like I haven't given as good as I got," she said candidly. "Do you mind if I ask you something?"

McCoy leaned back, smirking.

"If I said 'yes' would that stop you?"

"Sounds like you're feeling more like yourself since you got something into your stomach," she said returning his smirk. "There's more going on with you than Diana's death, isn't there? More than just what happened to Claire?"

McCoy unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt, as he seemed to be weighing her question.

"What makes you think that?"

"I don't know…I suppose…,"she said awkwardly struggling to explain. "It's hard to say. It's just a feeling I got from listening to you. If you don't want to get into it.."

"I've had three assistants die in untimely deaths. You know about Claire and Diana. Last year, my assistant was murdered," he said as he moved the eggs around the plate. "Connie replaced her. Her name was Alexandria."

Prescott listened horrified, as McCoy described the events leading to the murder of ADA Alexandria Borgia. His face reflecting his anguish and deep sorrow. When McCoy finished relying the details of Borgia's brutal ordeal, ending with her death by expiation in the truck of a car, he was impatiently wiping the tears from his eyes.

"My God, Jack. 'I'm sorry', doesn't even begin to cover it," she said quietly as after he finished. " Russian, Latin, Italian…whatever family affiliation they claim, it's all the same. They're all murdering animals. No wonder you're a mess. After everything else …There's only so much one person can take."

"One of my biggest regrets," he admitted, surprised at how easily the words kept coming ," is not having been able to prosecute the people responsible for murdering Alex. I'm not going to let that happen this time."

Prescott nodded, leaning back against the sofa, closing her eyes. Her body's demand for nourishment suddenly replaced by its growing demand for sleep. McCoy glanced at the grandfather clock, his eyes widened in surprise at the lateness of the hour.

"If you want to make an early train," he said seriously. "I should get you to bed."

She smiled without opening her eyes.

"You tried that earlier today, with painful results."

McCoy chuckled in spite of himself as he stood.

"I better find you something to wear," he said playfully. "Unless you'd feel safer sleeping in your suit?"

"A tee shirt would be much appreciated. If I don't get out of this suit soon, I swear I'm going to melt," she said, wiping the perspiration from her forehead.

When McCoy returned, he found Prescott sleeping soundly on the sofa. He gathered her in his arms, taking care not to disturb her or the holstered gun. After laying her down on the bed, he removed her shoes and the weapon. Once the window was open, he placed a sheet over her shoulders..

McCoy looked down at her frowning, silently debating with himself. Even with the breeze, the room was uncomfortably warm. He swore under his breath, impatient with his indecision. He carefully removed the blouse and skirt. He was relieved to find she wore stockings, their removal considerably easier than had she been wearing panty hose.

McCoy stood still, beguiled by the sight of her body clad only in a bra and panties. His mind fleetingly entertained, then discarded the idea of seduction, almost ashamed that he had even had the thought. _Jesus Jack…you just got through telling her how you play with women's lives…Brooke Prescott isn't a Samantha Wea_v_er…_

His lustful thoughts reminded of his night with Samantha Weaver. He felt himself flush with embarrassment knowing Prescott had more than likely reviewed the infamous disc. _She would have had to view it, to build a case for conspiracy. _

He sat on the edge of the bed, thoughts of the day pushed to the back of his mind as he watched her sleep. _God, you are a beautiful woman,_ he thought as he gently ran a hand through her hair. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so at ease with a woman… so at ease, yet so attracted… _Jamie? Maybe_. _But with Jamie the timing had been all wrong…there was no way…not right after Claire… _Part of him wanted to climb into bed with her and ravish her with passion he was certain she hadn't known since her husband had died. The other part simply wanted to hold her and fall asleep in her arms.

As he moved to stand, he felt her hand on his shoulder. McCoy turned his head, startled to see Prescott looking up at him. She looked down at the tee shirt, at first puzzled, then with understanding.

She sat up and held his gaze, for what seemed like several minutes. McCoy watched her face, trying unsuccessfully to read her thoughts.

Without a word, she leaned forward and kissed him. He responded by gently pressing his lips to hers, stirred by the unexpected kiss and the tenderness it held. McCoy resisted the desire to pull her to him. He deliberately followed the pace she set, feeling his passion grow, in a kiss that held more intimacy in it than the entire evening he had spent with Samantha Weaver.

" It's after two, Brooke.," he whispered, after reluctantly breaking the kiss. "You're exhausted - you don't know what you're doing. You need to sleep."

"I suppose I do, but I didn't kiss you due to exhaustion," she said softly as she began stroking the back of his neck.

"Care to fill me in?"

"That whole arrogant façade you project," she said faintly, "- your pretense of indifference - not to mention how god damn stubborn you are. Your passion for what's important in your life…all very familiar qualities."

"Didn't you almost knock my teeth out this afternoon, when I acted on my so called passion," he said gently.

"I almost knocked your teeth out because you scare the hell out of me."

McCoy raised his eyebrows as he stared at her, genuinely take aback.

"You're a good man, Jack McCoy."

"You give me too much credit Brooke," he said, as he stood.

She caught his hand as she made room beside her on the bed.

"If that where true, you wouldn't have stopped with my blouse and skirt," she said bluntly.

"What makes you think I wanted to stop?"

She looked down at his hand, a finger tracing the lines of his ring.

"I didn't say you wanted to stop," she said softly. "I don't think you're made of stone, Jack. Neither of us are. What's important is you _did_ stop."

"Brooke, what exactly are you getting at?"

"We both know what it is to lose someone. To lose someone in a messy, ugly nightmare with no chance to resolve …I know you don't want to be alone - you would have either left me on your sofa or brought me in here and gone to bed, if you had. I don't want to sleep alone tonight, either."

McCoy pondered her words carefully before hetook off his shoes and returned to the bed. He stretched out beside her and took her in his arms, giving her another tender, deliciously lingering kiss. This time she opened her mouth slightly, inviting him to take the lead. He explored her mouth deliberately, as the kiss became more urgent. He heard her moan as she pulled him closer, her hands moving over his back and to the front of his shirt. He continued kissing her as she unbuttoned his shirt. He felt her hands move over his bare skin, gently caressing his chest, as he removed the shirt, letting it fall to the floor.

His arm round her shoulders, and pulled her to him as he threw the sheet back over them. She snuggled against him as her arm fell across his chest. His eyes grew heavy as he looked down at her, finding her eyes closed. A satisfied half smile on her lips.


	25. The 2 7 Investagates

-1"I swear District Attorney or not, if I get one more call from Jack McCoy for an update on the Hawthorne homicide, I'm going down to One Hogan Place myself and personally smack that man."

Ed Green and Nina Cassady exchanged concurring glances as Lt. Anita Van Buren closed her office door.

"It's not like we've been sitting on it Lieu,"dectective Nina Cassidy said defensively." In the last two weeks, Ed and I have run down leads on this case every chance we've gotten. It's not like Diana Hawthorne is the only murder victim in Manhattan."

"No, but she's the only murder victim in Manhattan that had a past with our new D A," Green countered.

"What does that mean Ed? Every time McCoy says 'jump', we're supposed to ask 'how high'?"

Van Buren sat down behind her desk and picked the file in front of her along with her glasses. She reviewed the files contents as the two homicide detectives sat across from her.

"All right," she said wearily looking up. "Let's go over it on more time."

"The search of Hawthorne's apartment showed that the murder took place there," Cassady said flatly as she rolled her eyes." Traces of blood and hair were found on one of the walls in her living room. The damage to the wall, indicates she hit her head with enough force to cause death. No indication of forced entry - the murderer was more than likely someone Hawthorne knew. While the place appears to have been wiped down, the print guys did lift some usable prints from the guest bathroom The prints were a match to Samantha Weaver."

"The doorman remembers seeing Weaver, "Green injected. "She and Hawthorne were in and out of Hawthorne's apartment several times, the day Weaver was released from prison. But, he doesn't remember seeing her the night of the murder.

"Now, the doorman does leave the door unattended Sunday evening between nine and ten, when he goes on his dinner break. The tenants know this and are in the habit of being cautious about who they buzz in during that time. The security camera's show a woman of Weaver build coming in at 9:15 and leaving at 10:21."

Van Buren nodded.

"Leaving with a trunk she hadn't come in with - dark coat, glasses, floppy hat - obviously concealing her appearance from the camera's," Van Buren said impatiently. "It's a safe bet that Weaver did the murder - but need still need a motive."

"Lieu, they were partners in a conspiracy gone bad," Cassidy added. "isn't that motive?"

"You said it, Cassidy - a conspiracy gone bad. Hawthorne wasn't talking. There was nothing on that disc that directly linked Hawthorne and Weaver. Weaver could have said she just ran into McCoy that night - that she's just as much of a victim as he is. That she had no idea that Hawthorne had them recorded. Even with the bank records we've looked at, the connection between the two is pretty circumstantial. Have you finished talking to Weavers' associates from before she went to prison?"

"All but four. Two are out of the country. When were done here, were going to try Adrianne Harding again. The last one Andrew Tepper - the attorney - has been in court all week. We've left messages-"

Van Buren gave Green a exasperated glare.

"If you can't track Harding and Tepper down before I hear from McCoy again, _you two_ are going down there and explain it to him yourselves."

Connie Rubirosa closed the door to the District Attorney's office, standing beside Jack McCoy's desk as he finished his phone conversation. McCoy looked up, motioning for her to sit down and picking up the file she handed him.

"What is this," she asked as he glanced at the file and reached across the desk to hand it back to her.

"You know what it is - it's the case file for Samantha Weaver."

"I don't know why I have it," Rubirosa said bluntly. "Arthur didn't refile because the case is weak-"

"Arthur didn't refile because it wasn't politically correct. I re filed the case this morning", he said firmly. "We're going to trial. You know the case. I want you to take the lead, Connie."

"Jack, you know how I feel about this case - how I've felt from the beginning."

McCoy nodded.

"You objected to using Weaver's business tactics in court. Appellate court agreed with you. It's not an issue anymore."

Rubirosa looked down at her shoes for a moment, remembering he wasn't just her supervisor any more.

McCoy sensed her apprehension and chuckled.

"Connie - don't stand on ceremony. If you have something to say, let's hear it."

"Alright," she said looking back at him. "Not only is this political suicide for you, it's bad strategy for me. Jack, we have no new evidence. All we have is a new crime - one I can't even indict on until Cassady and Green finish their investigation. You're also going to use up any political capital Arthur left you, pursuing a case that's going to bring bad press in the middle of the Hawthorne murder."

"People are dead Connie. I didn't take this job to play if safe," McCoy said shortly, interrupted by the intercom buzzer. "Yes?"

"Mr. McCoy, there's a Mrs. Kopell downstairs," his administrative assistant replied. "She's insists on seeing you. I've explained-"

"Anna Kopell," he said softly.

"Yes."

"Have security send her up," he said leaning back clearly baffled by the announcement.

"Jack?"

"The wife of an old friend, "he said as he stood, reaching for the dark grey suit coat on the back of his chair." I haven't spoken to Anna since Paul - her husband Paul - was convicted on conspiracy charges, thirteen years ago."

Rubirosa's eyes widened.

"Conspiracy charges? Who was the prosecutor assigned to the case?"

"I was."

Before Rubirosa could respond the door opened, the secretary ushering in a petite woman in her fifties.

The woman stood just inside the doorway, her deep blue eyes holding the same look of disillusionment he'd seen in them the day Paul Kopell's verdict was handed down.

"Connie, let's finish this later," he said. He waited for Rubirosa to close the door behind her before coming forward and extending his hands. "Anna it's good to see you."

"Is it Jack," she said coldly. She ignored his gesture as she walked past him, placing her purse on a chair as she sat across from his desk. "As good as it was the last time you saw me?"

McCoy returned to his seat. He looked across the desk at the fiery redhead. He knew he'd been overly optimistic, hoping for a moment Anna Kopell could possibly have come to see him after all these years to mend fences.

He sighed heavily.

"I don't you don't believe this Anna, but I never wanted to see things go that far. I wanted Paul to deal-"

"Save it, Jack. I didn't come here to listen to you try to ease your conscious. Paul lost his practice, his passion. He's never been the same since you betrayed him."

"Anna, Paul involved himself with murderers. He knew they were going to kill that juror-"

"That's not why you went after him and we both know it," she said accusingly. "It's always been about winning with you Jack - at all costs. With Paul, with Diana…"

McCoy cocked his head, raising his eyebrows.

"You're here about Diana Hawthorne?"

Anna nodded.

"That girl really cared about you, Jack. Enough to do your dirty work for you and look where it got her."

"Oh, Anna. If you believe that," he said bluntly, "you never really knew me at all."

Anna Kopell laughed bitterly.

"Don't kid yourself Jack. I always knew what you were. A dirty little Mick from the wrong side of the tracks, that cared more about his immediate gratification than the consequences of his actions," she said, her eyes bright with fury. "Even after she got out of that hell hole…Bedford Hills? She thought you'd come around - make an attempt to apologize-"

"Apologize," he said incredulously. "For _what_? Anna why are you here?"

Anna picked up her purse. She removed a large manila envelope from the bag and set it on McCoy's desk.

"After she got out of prison, Diana looked me up. Her old friends - from when she practiced law - had turned their backs on her. Much like what happened to Paul. She had no one to turn to. She and I had hit it off when the two of you were dating. Diana looked me up - invited me to lunch. We became quite close over the years."

"Close enough for her to tell you why she involved herself with Samantha Weaver?"

She shook her head, glaring at him.

"Diana had every right to be bitter - I won't even begin to tell you what her life was like when she got out of prison…after that disastrous marriage…"

"Anna, this is a murder investigation. If you're with holding evidence-"

"You'll do what, Jack? You'll come after me? My God, " she said contemptuously, "is your ambition really worth what it's cost you? Friends, lovers-"

"You want to talk about ambition, do you," he asked savagely. "We both know why Paul became a mob lawyer, don't we Anna?"

"Paul enjoyed the lifestyle, he enjoyed the gambling with-"

"As much as you enjoyed the country club and having a house in the Hampton's."

Anna bolted from the chair leaning over the desk.

"You son of a bitch! You know I love Paul," she said shaking with wrath.

"But not enough to settle for the life a legitimate defense lawyer could provide," he countered.

Kopell held onto the desk, trying to regain her compose before she looked into his eyes.

"I told Diana you weren't worth the trouble. The only reason I'm here is because she made me promise, if something happened to her, I'd bring you that envelope. "

"What's in it?"

"I have no idea, "she said stalking towards the door. "She said it was insurance - that's all I know."

"Anna," he said holding the envelope. "when did she give this to you?"

"Three weeks ago," Kopell said somberly. "The day Samantha Weaver got out of prison."


	26. The Letter

_**Thanks to Teyerin for her great suggestions and for helping me fill in some of the holes on the below letter. The plot thickens. I just hope it's not getting too thick - or should I say deep??**_

_June 2, 2007_

_Jack,_

_I'll spare us both any flowery sentiments about what was between us, all those years ago. Sadly there are more pressing matters to attend to if you indeed, have occasion to be reading this._

_Samantha Weaver did not engineer the death of Charles Dillon._

_While I was working for Samantha's attorney, Andrew Tepper, the focus was on her defense. Casting doubt on any evidence you had against Samantha and not on who the real killer was - or as you liked to say so often the 'search for the truth'. Being trained as prosecutor, it was my nature to dig a little deeper._

_After Samantha was convicted, my services were no longer required for the appeal process - by now I'm sure you're acquainted with what exactly 'my services' entailed - briefing Tepper on your prosecutorial style and alerting him to any weakness on your part he might use to his advantage in court . As you had assigned Connie Rubirosa to take the lead at appeal, my involvement was no longer necessary. However, I had established a relationship with Samantha by then and continued to make periodic visits to her in prison. _

_It was during this time that I began to seriously formulate a plan to take you down and keep you down, for reasons which you are well aware of._

_As I reviewed the trail transcript, it became clear Tepper had a strong chance of a win. Samantha would be a free woman within the year. As that time grew closer, I was able to persuade Samantha that the man who had destroyed both of our careers - hers based solely on supposition - needed to be taught a lesson. To her credit, she was reluctant - until she was finally tranferred from Riker's to Bedford Hills._

_If you check Samantha's medical records during her time at Bedford, you will find she was hospitalized a week after her arrival. It wouldn't be the last time. The records enclosed will graphically demonstrate the greeting that was bestowed upon her in general population. Not too long after that introduction to prison life, she was more than ready to consider some form of retaliation against you. Especially given the fact she was innocent of any crime. _

_You put the wrong person in prison again, Jack. This time, you did it all on your own._

_My plan was to destroy your credibility enough that not only would Arthur Branch be forced to withdraw your name for consideration as District Attorney - the fallout would be so bad that your new boss would have no choice but to ask for your resignation. This action would be akin to ending your career in law - a fitting way to put you squarely where you put Samantha and myself._

_With your track record, it should have been easy - especially once I convinced Samantha of the damage it would do to you if we were able to manufacture evidence of a sexual relationship - one that was coerced by you. _

_I won't bore you any further with the details - clearly it didn't work or you wouldn't be reading this now. Obviously, something has gone very wrong. Wrong enough that I am forced to rely on you to set things right._

_What isn't as obvious is who killed Charles Dillon - information you need if you are going to correct the wrong you've done to Samantha Weaver._

_Dillon was a greedy opportunist and he wasn't working alone. The current CEO of Haligen-Webb Brock Stoddard, was Samantha's second in command. He worked with Dillon to force Samantha out hence leaving the path clear for him to take her place, once she was ousted. Stoddard was also sleeping with Samantha's mistress, Julia Veloso._

_Dillon threatened to expose Stoddard's role in the plan. When the plan backfired - Veloso left her fingerprints in the room by mistake - Stoddard cut his losses. He threatened to not only to expose her relationship with Samantha, but to have her deported - after he informed Brazilian officials and her family of her life of prostitution. Julia has a child in Brazil. There's your reason why Julia didn't implicate Stoddard at trial._

_I'm sure you're skeptical, given the course of events that have brought us to this place, Jack. Once you review the enclosed documents - bank records, Stoddard's phone records, etcetera, and confirm Julia's background information I think your doubts will be alleviated._

_Why didn't I come forward during the appeal? Because with your inevitable appointment to the position of District Attorney, the opportunity to seek my long awaited pound of flesh from you was too great for me to pass up. Samantha's role was critical. The appealate court ruling would get her out of jail, but not completely vindicate her. I knew if she was exonerated, she would never be willing to continue her role in my scheme. _

_Samantha Weaver has been victimized by not just Stoddard and Dillon, but by you and me, Jack. The question is: Will you right the wrong or will you put your personal ambition before the truth?_

_You are now in the same position I was with the Dillard case._

_I just wish I could be there to watch you live with your decision. _

_Diana_

Anita Van Buren rubbed her forehead, shaking her head as she looked up from the letter.

"This has been authenticated," she asked taking the glass McCoy offered her.

He nodded, as he refilled the glass beside him on his desk.

"I had Connie pull some of the cases Diana and I worked together on from the archives. Diana's handwriting is all over those case files. Connie took copies of the letter and the case files downtown right after we opened the envelope. It's Diana's handwriting. The question is, how much of her ramblings are based on fact and how much are based on fabricated evidence?"

"Green and Cassady have finished interviewing all of Samantha Weavers associates from the first investigation. Based on what you've just given me, I'll have them dig deeper. During the first investigation into Dillon's death, we didn't look at Stoddard at all," she held a hand up in anticipation of his response. "Jack, you need to remember there was no reason to look at Stoddard, back then. We had Julia Veloso' prints at the scene, her confession. The evidence pointed to a conspiracy between Veloso and Weaver to keep Dillon quiet. You yourself were convinced-"

"I know, Lieutenant," McCoy said raking a hand through his hair. "I was convinced Weaver was behind the murder. Apparently I was wrong. If Diana's documentation checks out, there's a good chance I not only sent an innocent woman to prison, but that the real killer struck again."

"You think Stoddard found out Hawthorne had evidence that tied him to Dillon's murder?"

"It makes sense, doesn't it," he said leaning forward. "Based on what your investigations turned up on Diana, we know she was in financial trouble - but certainly not enough for someone to kill her. If Weaver didn't kill Dillon, it's unlikely she killed Diana. Stoddard would have the most motive to go after her."

"I don't know Jack," Van Buren said uncertain. " If Weaver found out Diana had evidence to clear her and sat on it so Weaver would…"

"Would sleep with me," he asked bluntly. "That might be motive enough for her to kill Diana,"

"Jack, we've got someone fitting Samantha Weaver's description on the surveillance video in Hawthorne's building the night of the murder. Until we can nail down Stoddard's movements and locate Weaver you and I are just speculating."


	27. A Favor for a Friend?

"You know McCoy's going to raise hell when he hears about this," he said holding up the file in his hand.

Brooke Prescott looked up from the email she was reading and removed her glasses.

"How soon they forget," said contemptuously. "I kept Manhattan from asserting jurisdiction over the _Borelli _case earlier this year. Are you doubting my ability fend off poachers, Jake?"

ADA Jake Cohen grinned back at his supervisor as he leaned against the door pane. Cohen was the textbook definition of tall, dark, and handsome. His long face made more attractive by the whisper of grey in his sideburns and the deep green eyes that twinkled with amusement.

"Forgive me for questioning your infallibility, oh Great One," Cohen said sarcastically. "But he's new to the job - and you _know_ how they are when they're new. McCoy's going to be inclined to flex his muscles when he finds out Andrew Tepper's set up a meeting with us and not his office, on the Weaver matter. Besides," Cohen added with a wink and a smirk, "given the fact you two spent the night together the guy might think he can charm this case out of you."

Prescott sat back and gave her colleague an imposing stare.

"I've spent the night with you once or twice Cohen," she shot back brazenly. "How much slack has that gotten _you_?"

Cohen grimaced. "Yeah, like a night on my couch is the same thing as you staying in Manhattan all night with Jack McCoy."

"Fishing or just jealous Jake," she asked wryly.

Cohen stuck his tongue out, causing a uncharacteristic giggle to escape from Prescott.

"Real mature,Cohen. Just the kind of image Jackowicz wants to promote for this office."

"Come on Brooke, I'm your friend and a prosecutor. It's in my nature to ask questions," he said defensively. "I mean, it's not like were talking about _me _showing up to work in the same suit as the day before. That would hardly be a first. But when Prissy Prescott does it-"

"Hey," she said with mock indignation."Who you callin' 'prissy'?"

"Then," Cohen blithely continued, "Jack McCoy sends you a dozen long stemmed reds, that same day. What do you expect Brooke? People are gonna wonder, especially after that home movie-"

Cohen stopped abruptly, silenced by Prescott's scathing stare.

"That disc is evidence in a felony investigation. As far I know only you, me, the investigating officers, and defense counsel have viewed that disc. If I find out it's been taken out of the evidence room for a free for all, I will personally see someone loses-"

"Brooke lighten up," Cohen said earnestly. "we may act like adolescents around here, but were all professionals. The only reason word got around is that 'leak' Neil Gorton tried to stage with _The Ledger _a few weeks back. You know no one screws around with evidence in this office_."_

Prescott nodded her head, in agreement.

"Gorton got off lucky when Judge Ellis _just_ issued a gag order," she said under her breath. "Bastard should have been hailed up before the discipline committee for pulling an unethical stunt like that."

Cohen eyes widened with surprise.

"That's a bit extreme, don't you think? The last time I heard you over react like that was when Sam was cornered by that…" he paused, his face softening."This McCoy character…you really care about him, don't you Brooke?"

"I care when evidence in an on going invest-," Prescott began impatiently. She stopped as Cohen gave her knowing smile.

"Fine. I care.The man doesn't deserve to have his name dragged through the mud." Prescott said at last."I also care about being ready when Tepper shows up. Can we get to it now?"

"Did Tepper give you any clue as to what he's after?"

"He just said he's been in contact with Samantha Weaver since word of Brock Stoddard's arrest was made public. With Weaver no longer a suspect in Charles Dillon's death, Weaver's conspiracy charge is the only charge left on the table. Since she was initially charged in Suffolk county, Tepper says Weaver is willing to surrender herself after Tepper reviews the charges with us."

"What about Weaver's involvement in the Hawthorne murder?"

Prescott shrugged her shoulders.

"Tepper says he'll address that when we meet," she said glancing at her watch and standing. "Which is in about five minutes. Have you got the disc?"

Cohen patted the pocket of his navy suit coat.

"I'm keeping it close to my heart - you think there's any chance McCoy would be willing to autograph a picture? The man _is_ my hero."

"Wiseass," she said with a chuckle as she pulled the mauve suit jacket from the coat rack beside the door.

"Can't blame a guy for askin'," he responded, turning as the door to the office opened.

"Brooke, I just got off the phone with Jack McCoy. He's pressuring me to release the Weaver case to New York county."

Prescott looked expectantly at the portly man in her doorway. In the decade Brooke Prescott had worked for District Attorney Michael Jackowicz she had learned that, although the man had the physical appearance of a kindly father Christmas, underneath the harmless exterior lurked a ruthless prosecutor.

"You want to pass on this one, Michael? Let the new DA cut his teeth our case?"

The District Attorney for Suffolk county raised his eyebrows.

"McCoy says he needs the conspiracy charge to use as leverage to get Weaver to plea in the Hawthorne case."

"She didn't think about a plea in the Dillon case until her back was against the wall - she isn't gonna plea now. Manhattan isn't ready to indict - we'd be doing them a favor by moving forward Michael - it'll give them time to build a stronger case."

"I'm sure Jack will appreciate how thoughtful you're being - looking out for the best interests of his office and all," Jackowicz said, a whisper of a smile on lips."Confident of a conviction, are you?"

"Absolutely. You've seen the documentation," Prescott said briskly. "The woman was seen handing a disc off to Hawthorne minutes after leaving McCoy's residence - that alone is going to make the conspiracy a slam dunk. But, you're the boss, "she said contritely. "If you'd rather Manhattan try to link this with a weak at best homicide case…well like I said, it's your call."

Cohen and Jackowicz exchanged glances.

"Knock it off, Brooke. Piety doesn't become you. Andrew Tepper is in the conference room. Appraise McCoy 's office of the outcome of your meeting and any other developments that arise," Jackowicz said with a frosty smile."I'm sure Jack will want to thank you personally after I email him and let him know how committed you are to doing this good deed for the benefit of the Manhattan D A's office."


	28. The Invasion of the Pines

_I swear this story just takes on a life of it's own! I blame my reviewers, who keep feeding my ego AND giving me more ideas to play with (this is NOT a complaint - it's actually an acknowledgement of how much I appreciate the support you all have given me). FYI I don't live anywhere near NYC, so I've been doing a bit of research on the communities I've been using in this story. The community of Ocean Beach does exist. Not too far from it are the communities of Islip & Cherry Grove. The Invasion of the Pines is a real July 4th celebration. I have summarized some of the history of this event in this chapter, just because I found it kind of neat._

"Geez Branson, what a loser," Brooke Prescott jeered. "At least when I nailed you for vandalism , you could aim! What happened? That was only what… fifteen years ago? Now, you throw like an old lady!"

The gangly man in his late twenties, grinned back at Prescott as he picked up another softball, this time handing it to the toddler beside him.

"You think so, Prescott? What 'til you see what my girl can do," he said bending down until he and the freckled faced girl were eye to eye. "What do you say, Mimi? Do think you can dunk the nasty _old_ D A for Daddy?"

The child looked around uncertainly at the small crowd that had gathered around the booth. The banner in front of the water filled tank read_ Dunk the DA: Proceeds to Benefit the Suffolk County Center for Victims of Violent Crimes. _Prescott smiled down from her perch at the child and pointed at the metal release bar.

"Come on Mimi, you almost had me last time."

"No, Daddy do it," she said solemnly handing the ball back to her father.

"Yeah Daddy, _do_ it," Prescott taunted, as the ball sailed once again over the lever and to the ground.

"Damn Brooke. Almost three hours and not a single dunk," Jake Cohen said standing next to the tank. "Last year, I was going under every fifteen minutes."

"It's not as easy as it looks - you gotta really give the ball some play to make that gate go. The easier it looks the more people try, the more dough we raise. Although with the humidity, I wouldn't mind a good dunking right about now," Prescott said waving as the father and daughter left the booth. "One of these days we need to gang up on Jackowicz - the sign says dunk the _DA_, not the ADA."

"You know what he'll say. He's doing his part being Honorary Grand Marshall for the _Invasion of the Pines_. 'The office has a whole needs to be part of community outreach.' Hey, speaking of reaching out, how'd it go when you called your friend in Manhattan," Cohen asked while he absentmindedly retrieved and tossed the softballs from the ground into the box behind the table at the front of the booth.

"I emailed Rubirosa ," she said smugly. "The ADA handling the Hawthorne case. Sent her a summary of our meeting with Tepper. Forwarded a copy to McCoy."

Cohen shook his head.

"I don't believe you. You hijack the man's case -"

"I didn't hijack anything. The case was in our jurisdiction, end of story. I'll talk to McCoy after he's had a chance to cool off," Prescott said grinning as she looked at the redhead with a ball in hand. "Lindsay! Oh, no…not fair! She's a ringer Andrew - you know she was voted MVP on her baseball team at school."

The man beside the girl smiled back.

"Hey it's for a good cause Sis, so buck up and get ready to get wet."

"Yeah Aunt Brooke, get ready," the girl said throwing her braids back behind her shoulders, a gleam in the cornflower colored eyes, as she threw the ball.

Prescott watched with exaggerated anxiety, as the balls came. Each ball hitting the bar, but without enough force to bring her down.

"Thatta girl Lindsay," she shouted. "Keep 'em coming. By the time you get me in the water, your Dad will have the center running in the black for the rest of the year. "

"A small price to pay. At least this way, I know where you are. For the moment, anyway" the burly man, wearing a tee shirt with _Suffolk county Fire Fighters _scrolled across the chest, replied.

Prescott rolled her eyes.

"Give me a break, Andy - aren't you the one that said I needed to get out of the office more?"

"I meant go home at a decent hour, let me set you up on a blind date once in a while- not go MIA on me when you go over the bridge" Andy Malinowski replied pensively.

"Geez, get a life all ready. As a fire fighter you spend more time away from home than I ever do," she said with a touch of annoyance. "Besides Andy, you have a thirteen year old - play sex police with Lindsay, not me."

"Brooke!"

"God Aunt Brooke, I'm not the one that didn't come home. Don't sick Dad on me," Lindsay said mortified. "What's up with that bar? Aunt Brooke, I think you rigged it to stay up."

Prescott laughed.

"What happened to good sportsman ship young lady," Prescott said smug distain. "Is it my fault no one here has enough _skill_ to hit a metal bar? Looks to me like someone needs to work on her pitching arm. Looks mighty weak, from where I sit."

"Looks to _me_ like someone needs to be brought down a peg or two," a raspy voice countered.

The group followed Prescott's gaze to the figure dressed in jeans and a light blue dress shirt standing behind Lindsay. The man with salt and pepper hair causally tossed a softball up in the air, catching it without breaking eye contact with Prescott.

Prescott ran a hand through her hair, feeling her face flush. Flushing in part out of embarrassment at being caught off guard wearing only her purple bikini. She also flushed at her own pleasure in catching McCoy's brief but clearly approving, appraisal of her in said attire.

Cohen snickered as he looked up at Prescott.

"Oh, _this_ is going to be good."

"Jack. I didn't figure you for a festival enthusiast."

"Brooke, didn't figure you to be one to run from a fight," McCoy countered."Why haven't you returned my calls?"

"I've been busy," she said vaguely. "I suppose you know the roots of the _Invasion? _Started in 1977 to commemorate the community outcry when Terry Warren was refused service in a Cherry Grove restaurant, based solely on sexual orientation. Kind of a mix of gay pride and community barbarque."

"I'm familiar with the history. You remember Serena Southerlyn, from your visit to my office? She's one of the organizers. She mentioned your office always has a booth. Figured it was a safe bet I'd find you down here," he said as he pulled his arm back, eyes narrowed. "We need to talk. After we're finished here."

"Yikes," Cohen said, moving to where Prescott's niece and brother stood as the ball whirled past him and into the center of the metal lever, sending Prescott into the tank.

"The wet look suits you, counselor," McCoy said grinning as he picked up another ball, ignoring the defiant look Prescott shot him.

"You're a friend of Brooke's?"

"Andy, this is Jack McCoy," Cohen said turning to McCoy. "Mr. McCoy, I'm Jake Cohen."

"Mr. Cohen - you work with Mrs. Prescott?"

Cohen nodded, as he extended his hand.

"I'm Brooke's assistant. I know your former assistant. Serena and I have been on the organizing committee together several times. She speaks highly of you," Cohen said turning Malinowski, "This is Andrew Malinowski - Brooke's brother - and his daughter, Lindsay."

McCoy shook hands with the two men. Lindsay looked him up and down, hands on her hips.

"You're the guy that kept my aunt out all night?"

"Guilty as charged. And you're the ring tone girl? _I am Woman_…a good choice for your Aunt," he said his gaze moving from Lindsay to Andy Malinowski. "Brooke's very much her own woman. I respect that."

"That she is Mr. McCoy," Malinowski said, as he gave McCoy the once over himself.

"Hey Cohen if you want to keep your job, nix the impromptu interrogation over there," Prescott said as she sat back on the perch. "As for you McCoy - I wouldn't get too cocky, if I were you. Anyone can have a lucky shot."

"You think so," McCoy shot back. "You want put your money where your mouth is, counselor?"

"You're on. The price is $5.00's a ball. Let's say for every throw that lands me in the water, I owe you another $5.00. For every throw you miss, you owe the booth another $5.00?"

"You're sure you want to do this?"

"You don't intimidate me, McCoy," Prescott said ignoring Cohen's urgent head shaking. "I know how you Irishmen operate."

McCoy picked up another ball and menacingly turned his attention to Prescott.

"Meaning?"

"A lot of blarney. All talk, but no action."

McCoy laughed softly, giving her a look that had 'sucker' written all over it.

"You make taking your money a real pleasure, Brooke."

Forty minutes later, Cohen handed his boss a towel as Prescott climbed down the ladder.

" 'A lucky shot' ? When are you going to learn I'm more than just a pretty face? Serena Southerlyn has played _darts _with the man - McCoy's a _pro_! I tried to warn you - what were you thinking?"

"It's called buying time, Cohen," she said as she dried herself off. "Here he comes - maybe you want to ask for that autograph now?"

"I think I'll pass," Cohen said as he stripped off his shirt. He hugged her, giving her a peck on the cheek before starting up the latter. "Expect a phone call Saturday morning - I want details, Brooke."

"I hope you have your checkbook with you," McCoy inquired smugly. "Cooled off yet?"

"I was going to ask you the same question Jack," she said as she grabbed the tote bag from behind the tank.

"I'm sure you realize if I wanted to, I could go over Jackowicz's head - take the matter to a judge."

"_If_ you wanted to," she said as she smoothed the lavender sundress down over her bikini. "But you won't."

McCoy looked down at her amused.

"Now whose being cocky? If you're so sure of yourself, why have you been using Connie as a buffer and dodging my calls?"

"You know I'm more of a email gal Jack," she hedged. " Besides, I've been in court most of the week. I haven't had time to battle it out with you over Weaver."

"About that - what is this crap Tepper handed you today? We've been trying to locate Weaver for weeks and now she suddenly contacts her attorney from Montana - what the hell is that?"

"According to Tepper after meeting with Hawthorne to hand off the disc, Weaver went to Hawthorne's place. Supposedly Hawthorne had her personal effects and was supposed to connect with Weaver that evening."

"Explaining why Weaver's prints were found at Diana's place," McCoy said as the pair moved through the crowd toward a block benches past a variety of food stands.

"Right. When Hawthorne never showed, Weaver tried her cell phone. She was afraid to leave a voice message - she didn't want to risk leaving a trail. Weaver says she fell asleep at Hawthorne's. When she read the morning paper, she realized what had happened. She left and made arrangements to take a private plane out of Jersey to her father's place in Montana.

"She was getting ready to get on a bus to Jersey, when Hawthorne called her after her arraignment. Now this is where it gets interesting," Prescott said sitting on an empty bench. "Jack, Weaver's claiming she is the woman in the surveillance photos - that she disguised herself out of fear of going back to prison on the conspiracy charge - not because she killed Hawthorne. She claims Hawthorne was alive when she left."

"What about the trunk?"

"Weaver says it was full of her personal effects."

"Please," McCoy sputtered. "That trunk was big enough to hold a body."

"It gets better. When I told Tepper to produce the trunk so forensics could go over it, he claimed that it got lost on the bus from Helena out to her Dads cabin."

"Are you serious? First she claims she threw a gun away at her trial, now were supposed to believe she lost a trunk that can tie her to another murder," he said incredulously. "The woman ran a Fortune 500 company Brooke - careless is hardly a word that comes to mind when describing Samantha Weaver."

"Agreed."

"Really? You're not one of the growing group of Samantha Weaver supporters?"

Prescott looked up at him, confused.

"The woman is hardly innocent. Maybe she didn't kill Dillon, but she let herself get blackmailed into a cover up, she allowed herself to be used in a conspiracy to defame you…why would you think-"

"Connie's been of a different opinion since day one. She never thought we had enough for murder two on the Dillon murder. Now that it's come out that Weaver was innocent, she feels the woman has suffered enough."

"Jack, Connie's sharp. I can see that just from collaborating with her on this case," Prescott said earnestly. "But she's young. She hasn't seen what we've seen - or at least not as much of it. You gave me copies of the case files at the start of this. I know what you had at trial - it was thin, but you were trying to get a murderer off the streets. You did what you could with the information you had."

"Aunt Brooke, it's almost time."

Prescott smiled at her niece who was walking toward the bench.

"I haven't forgotten, Lindsay. Mr. McCoy and I have some business to discuss. When we finish-"

"Dad said you should invite Mr. McCoy to join us," the teenager said looking at McCoy expectantly. "Dad wants to get to know him better."

"What do you two have planned," McCoy asked .

"Aunt Brooke and I doing a song for the karaoke contest."

"Really," he said with peaked interest. "and what song might you two be singing?"

Prescott face turned an amusing shade of crimson, as she beat her niece to a response.

"Lindsay, do me a favor. You go put our names on the list. I'll be right there - five minutes. I promise," Prescott waited until her niece was out of ear shot before she continued. "Please excuse my family. My brother lost his wife last year. A battle with breast cancer. One of the ways he's dealing with the loss is to focus on my life, rather than his own."

"Nothing wrong with having a family that cares about you Brooke. I have a sister back in Chicago I'm quite close to. I'd enjoy watching you and your niece-"

"No. No you wouldn't. Trust me. I agreed to do it because my sister in law isn't here to do it with her this year - but it's _bad. _Really bad," she said in a tone that was almost pleading. "I'll double the money I owe you if you _don't _watch. Are you going to be available, say in an hour?"

"I can be. What do you have in mind?"

"Can I meet you at Flynn's at 9:30? We can take care of unfinished business then?"

"By 9:30 the ferry will be in - Flynn's will be a zoo on a Friday night. Especially with the fireworks display at ten. Why don't you come by my place when you're done here. I can grill some of the salmon I caught last time I was up. I still owe you dinner, since we were interrupted last time."

Prescott smiled weakly as she looked up at him.

"Brooke. You're not returning my calls and you're evasive. You seem unsure about coming to my place... I wish you'd just tell me what's on your mind," he said bluntly. "If being alone with me makes you uncomfortable... if this is about that night at my place-"

"No. No it's not you, Jack," she said apologetically."I'm sorry I gave you that impression. It's just...I am prosecuting Samantha Weaver. I, I don't... I can't... I wouldn't want you to be the victim of more bad press. Being seen together could fuel rumors of collusion between our offices-"

"Oh Brooke, that is crap and you know it" he said impatiently. "If I gave a damn about what the people said about me, I would have left the DA's office years ago.If _you_ care-"

"Aunt Brooke!!! We're next!"

Prescott looked towards her niece and then back at McCoy.

"I've got to go,"Prescott said standing."Jack, I'm sorry. I'll call you."

"Brooke, were not finished here."

Prescott glanced back over she shoulder.

"For the moment, we _are_ finished, Jack."

"


	29. Hit Me With Your Best Shot

_Thanks to SugarKane & Giwu for their reassurances and advice as I tried to pull the final draft together for this chapter. Hope you all find it worth the wait! _

McCoy could see his earlier prediction was accurate - the crowd at _Flynn's_ had already begun to spill out on to the deck, the bar floor packed with not only the usual the boisterous crowd that flocked to Ocean Beach's largest bar on the weekend, but with vacationers in for the Fourth of July weekend. As the hip hop music of The Diplomats _Ground Zero_ assaulted his senses, he gave serious thought to returningto his motorcycle. He still couldn't believe he'd let Jake Cohen talk him in to meeting.

McCoy had been deep in thought, mystified by his earlier conversation with Brooke Prescott when Cohen joined him on the bench.

"I was offered a bribe not to watch," McCoy had replied when Cohen invited him to join a group of Prescott's colleagues, who were waiting with great anticipation to witness Prescott's performance.

"That's just Brooke's stage fright talking," Cohen said laughing off McCoy remark. "Sure she's starts off petrified, but it'll take all of ten seconds before she's hamming it up worse than Lindsay is. Trust me, McCoy - this is going to be priceless."

McCoy knew Prescott's manner suggested more than stage fright and eventually said as much when Cohen good naturedly pressed him. Cohen seemed as mystified as McCoy was. The two men had stood and were about to part ways, when Cohen reminded McCoy that Samantha Weaver was being arraigned the next morning.

"I'll be handling the arraignment, Brooke will step in when we're ready to question Weaver," the younger man explained. "I know Brooke's been keeping you appraised via email and Ms. Rubirosa, but I'd feel better if you and I sat down and smoothed out any rough spots. Any chance I could buy you a drink later this evening?"

It wasn't like McCoy didn't know exactly what Cohen was doing - it was obvious he and Prescott were more than colleagues.What wasn't obvious was _why_ he was doing it. But, McCoy did have some questions that had been left unanswered when Prescott cut their conversation short. Against his is better judgment he agreed a drink.

As he slowly made his way through the crowd, he spotted Cohen and Prescott at the bar. McCoy swore silently, his suspicions confirmed. The pair were in the middle of a heated conversation - a tumbler and dice in front of Prescott, as well as an empty shot glass. McCoy stopped, watching the exchange. Cohen acknowledged him with a slight nod.

"Damn you Cohen," Prescott said, her back to McCoy. "This is crap - Weaver's arraignment is in the morning. You know I can't down a twenty four ounce-"

"You know what that alternative is. Quit stalling," he man said triumphantly as he pressed something that looked like a cocktail napkin into her hand. "You know the rules."

McCoy watched as Prescott stood, picking up her bag and turning slightly.

"When I figure out how you loaded those dice there will be _serious_ pay back."

Don't accusations you can't back up with hard evidence, counselor," Cohen said glibly.

She shot the man a dagger look, and began moving away from McCoy.

"I don't appreciate being manipulated, Mr. Cohen," McCoy snapped as he replaced Prescott on the stool beside Cohen.

The other man shrugged his shoulders.

"No manipulation here, counselor. I said I wanted to discuss the case. I do. I said I wanted to buy you a drink. I plan to. What you and Brooke decide to do is up to you two. I hear you're a Scotch drinker, any particular brand you favor?"

"Fine," McCoy said indifferently, scanning the shelves behind the bar. "Chivas Regal, Royal Salute. Make it a double."

Cohen did a double take, then smiled at the obvious comeuppance implied by ordering the most expensive scotch in the house.

McCoy savored the $25.00 a shot scotch, as Cohen reviewed the itinerary for the morning. Baring any unforeseen delays, Weaver would arrive from Montana at eight thirty, figuring another hour to get from the airport to the criminal courts building, the arraignment should start at no later than ten o'clock. Cohen anticipated Weaver's lawyer would seek bail - claiming Weaver had voluntarily surrendered herself, hench proving her desire to cooperate and remain in the jurisdiction.

The two men were discussing strategy to discredit that notion, when the barrage of hip hop stopped and the D J asked for quiet.

"Alright Ocean Beach," shouted a man who looked to be younger than McCoy daughter, although with the spiked electric blue hair and what looked to be gothic make up, it was hard for McCoy to be sure. "Are you having a good time," he asked pausing to gage the crowds response. "Let's try that again - let them hear it in Manhattan if you think _Flynn's _rocks," pleased with the deafening cheers he proceeded. "Those of you that are regulars know Friday night is traditionally oldies night. Before we begin our set of Sounds from the Sixties, we have a debt to settle at the bar.

"As we all know, gambling for money in Suffolk county is illegal and _Flynn's _is all about keeping it legal, right? Especially when members of Suffolk County's District Attorney's office are in the house. I welcome Suffolk County Assistant District Attorney Brooke Prescott to the stage to perform a _Flynn's_ tradition. Come on up Brooke and settle your debt. What's your pleasure: 'Drink your Debt Away' or 'Buy it for a Song?'"

McCoy watched as Prescott stepped on stage, laughing at her obvious discomfort. Cohen leaned over, explaining that the house rules required the loser to either sing the song of the winners choice, or down the houses infamous 'Ice Tea' concoction.

"I'll Buy it for a Song."

"Alright, let's go! Read your dedication and we'll get started."

McCoy could see her eyes roll as she began reading from the cocktail napkin in her hand.

"This song-"

"Mr. Cohen, as amusing as this is - and I will admit this is amusing - I really don't-,"McCoy protested.

"-is dedicated to the hottest man in New York county-,"he heard Prescott say hurriedly, her eyes wide as she self consciously read from the napkin.

" …a man with a long history of being a heart breaker. Jack, you have met you match - hit me with your best shot," she exclaimed as the music for the rock and roll classic _Hit me With Your Best Shot_ began.

Wide eyed, slack jawed McCoy began to sit back. Cohen tapped him on the shoulder, motioning McCoy to follow the him towards the stage. As they moved through the crowd McCoy could see Cohen had been right earlier. Hips grinding provocatively, body moving with the beat, Prescott immediately was into what she was doing.

Cohen reached the stage before McCoy did. Prescott was unabashedly belting out the familiar Pat Benatar tune, most of the audience swaying and singing as well. Cohen made eye contact with her, a sly grin on his face.

McCoy stood behind Cohen, Prescott completely oblivious to his presence. Her eyes closed momentarily as she danced during the brief guitar solo. Cohen took the opportunity to step back leaving McCoy in his place, saying a hurried 'goodnight' and disappeared into the crowd.

Prescott picked up the lyrics without missing a beat, opening her eyes as she bent down to where she expected Cohen to be.

Finding herself face to face with McCoy Prescott froze, a death threat with Jake Cohen's name on it replaced lyrics, much to McCoy's amusement. Prescott desparately tried to put aside her mortified shock long enough to finish the song.

"Where the hell is he," Prescott demanded the moment the music stopped, her body shaking with fury. McCoy helped her down from the stage, handing her her purse.

"I think the execution is going to have to wait until morning," he said as they moved towards the deck. "He was out of here two verses ago. Don't be too hard on him Brooke - you have nothing to be embarrassed about. It was a very entertaining performance - I especially enjoyed the dedication."

McCoy waved at a waitress, laughing at the multiple shades of red that brought out the blue in her eyes.

"Yeah, well I should explain that-"she began, interrupted by the arrival of an inquiring cocktail waitress.

"What can I bring you two?"

McCoy ordered his usual brand of scotch, while Prescott asked for a shot of Cuervo Gold and a slice of lime. The pair stood silently looking at one another as the waitress departed .

"How'd he get you down here," she asked finally.

Listening, she quietly nodding as McCoy explained.

"Jack, I don't know what to say. You must think my office is run by a group of real incompetents with nothing better to do than-"

McCoy shook his head.

"Brooke, I won't say I understand Cohen's persistence tonight, but it's clear the man cares about you. I can't fault him for that. Besides, may be now you're ready to tell me what the real problem is between us."

She looked out past the deck at the fireworks that were brightening the night sky.

The minute she had turned down his dinner invitation, Prescott had felt like an utter fool. He was right, her explanation had been total crap. How could she make him understand while she wasn't in the least intimidated by the press, she had no desire to deal with Samantha Weaver as Jack McCoy's lover.

If she told him, she was sure he'd turn the tables on her and make the conversation about trust. 'Don't you think we can have dinner, without me trying to get you into bed'…or words to that effect. Benign on the surface, but underneath an unspoken challenge. _As if there was a chance in hell that dinner at his place wasn't a sexual time bomb waiting to explode._

How could she tell him without sounding like an sex starved nymphomaniac, it wasn't _his _actions that she was worried about?

_There's a reason a series of his assistants have been his lovers. There's a reason Ben Stone has sent you half a dozen emails ' just to see how you're doing' in the last two weeks. There's a reason that conniving bitch looks like she's having the time of her life in that damned sex disc… It's the same reason you can't stop thinking about the way he looked at you, the way he touched you…how good it felt when-_

"Brooke," he said his frustration apparent. "Obviously, you're not interested more than a professional relationship - at least with me. I get that, inspite of what just happened."

Prescott stared at him thoughtfully turning his words over as the waitress returned with their drinks.

"What do you mean 'at least not with you',"she asked slipping the waitress a twenty before McCoy could object.

McCoy looked at her indifferently.

"I think it's obvious. Listen Brooke, we're not children. I really don't see any benefit to be laboring -"

"Humor me," she said, sensing something uncomprehendable.

"Look," he said his tone leaving indifference and merging with annoyed. "I've been involved with enough assistants to know-"

Prescott's eyes widen as she started to laugh.

"Assistants…you think.. me and _Jake_? Are you _insane_ ," she said gasping. "If anything, Jake is infatuated with _you, _not with _me_!"

"What the hell are you saying," McCoy sputtered, completely lost.

"Jack, the man is my best friend. He's also gay. Jake wrote that wiseass dedication -another part of the house rules, by the way. He did that, no doubt to…"

"To what," he said when Prescott became suddenly silent.

Prescott downed the shot she'd been holding and met his puzzled stare.

"No doubt to ensure this conversation would happen," she said with a sigh, as she squeezed on the lime. "Jack, you have no idea how out of practice I am at… after the other night….God, the more I talk the worse this gets," she said exasperated.

"I would think the events of the other night would assure you I'm not some animal with plans to at-"

Before McCoy could finish his remark, Prescott slammed the empty shot glass down on the rail and kissed him full on the lips. McCoy recovered quickly from his utter shock. His arms went around her, dipping her body back, as she parted her lips. He kissed her with intensity that made her knees weak with desire. Prescott clung to him lost in the taste of his mouth, the scent of his cologne, the feel of his hands on her body, until the sound of applause startled her into opening her eyes.

McCoy brought her back to a standing position, both of them smiling at each other unembarrassed by the attention they had drawn from their fellow patrons.

"Maybe we should take this someplace more private,"Prescott suggested,blushing at the self assured smile forming on McCoy's lips.

Grabbing his hand she lead him away from the bar and towards the docks.

"I can see I've alleviated any doubts you had about my interest in a less than professional relationship with you."

"Completely," he said as he stopped her, pulling her to him and reclaiming her lips. The tenderness of the previous evening still evident in the way he began the kiss. once again he waited for her lips to part before he replaced tenderness with carnal desire.

"I can think of a more private place to take this than the dock," he whispered as he ran his hands over her shoulder and down her back.

She shook her head chuckling as she looked up at him.

"Yeah, you wouldn't be thinking of your place by any chance," she said as she continued to lead him towards the docks.

"Given that your place is forty minutes away by ferry, my place does make the most sense," he said matter of factly.

"Listen," she said stopping and facing him." I'm not trying to play the untouched virgin here. But I can't walk into a meeting with Andrew Tepper and Samantha Weaver tomorrow morning with you and do my job the way it needs to be done if we sleep together tonight. It's not that I don't want to, Jack. I'm just old enough to know better-"

"You're over thinking this-"

"Jack, I'm not some naive twenty something ADA, just out of law school. I know what this is and what it's not. I know myself-"

"Brooke, we've both done this job long enough to know the press-"

She shook her head putting a finger to his lips.

"Jack, if it was about the press, I wouldn't have just kissed you in front of the whole damned township. It was bad enough preparing for this case when you were just a colleague," she said softly," but watching that disc … dealing with Weaver after we sleep together… no, it can't happen tonight."

McCoy started to say something, then stopped shifting his gaze from Prescott downward.

"You know the next ferry out isn't for another forty five minutes," he said an amused smile on his face. "any ideas on how you'd like to pass the time?"

Prescott gave him a wicked grin and took his hand.

"You see that bench," she whispered in his ear, pointing."the one at the end of the dock? It's very secluded down there - very private."

McCoy's nodded taking her in his arms again.

"Good. There won't be any interruptions." she said her lips brushing against his cheek. "It's the perfect spot for us to sit down and strategize for tomorrow."


	30. Weaver's Return

_Excuse my ignorance in any facts regarding the procedures of the courts - I watch L and O, but I don't live it. All legal mombo jumbo is pretend... that's why we call it fiction, right?? _

Jack McCoy knotted his blue and white stripe tie as he walked towards the institutional pink brick building that housed the Islip branch of the Suffolk county criminal courts. Being that McCoy was a brief ferry ride from the court, he had elected to attend the arraignment, rather than ask ADA Rubirosa to drive in for the proceedings from Manhattan.

A pleasant gust of cool air hit him as he stopped at the directory across from the double glass doors. As he scanned the board he heard the doors open behind him.

"Grey? Isn't that the same suit and tie you wore the last time we were in court," Samantha Weaver said extending her hand as McCoy swung around. "You really should read my book, Jack. You should be delegating something as mundane as my arraignment to an under link, like Ms. Rubirosa. Especially now that your the District Attorney."

McCoy ignored the hand, addressing his comments to the man who stood beside her.

"Mr. Tepper. I assume Mrs. Prescott's office has advised you that although Ms. Weaver is being arraigned solely on charges stemming from her indictment in Suffolk county, a Grand Jury in New York county will be convening Monday morning with reference to the Murder One charge."

Tepper nodded, handing McCoy a thick packet of papers.

"My motion for a change of venue on the Murder One charge," he said as McCoy began reviewing the packet. "Given the connection between the crimes she's charged with, there's no reason my client should have to endure two separate trials - in addition to conflict of interest on the part of the New York County DA's office."

"Conflict of interest," McCoy repeated uncomprehending.

"You and the defendant had an intimate relationship," Tepper said bluntly. "in addition to the fact, you were lead prosecutor in a trial that resulted in Ms. Weaver's wrongful conviction."

McCoy ached an eyebrow.

"Relationship? That's an interesting word for it."

"You'll be receiving notice of my civil suit against your office, as well as my suit against you personally, early next week," Weaver added confidently.

"Why am I not surprised," he sighed as they moved down the hall towards the open door at the end of the hall.

"Don't take it personally.I make decisions based on profit and loss - the bottom line," Weaver said positioning herself between the two men. "While sales of _Making it in the Corner Office _sky rocketed after my conviction, the loss of my income as from my employment as CEO of Hailgen-Webb has tied my hands financially."

McCoy shrugged his shoulders as he waved dismissively at Weaver, who was clad in three thousand dollar Chanel pantsuit. McCoy remembered Rubirosa pointing out the suit just days before in a store window, as they returned from a lunch meeting across town.

"I can see you're in dire straits," he said drily. "You won't need designer pantsuits in prison, though."

Before Weaver could respond, Jake Cohen appeared in the doorway moving towards the group.

"Ms. Weaver, Mr. Tepper I'm ADA Cohen. Judge Ellis's clerk has asked that we take our seats.The judge will be ready to begin momentarily."

As the group entered the courtroom McCoy tapped Cohen on the shoulder.

"I don't see your boss," he asked glancing around the room.

"She'll meet us in the conference room after the Judge rules on bail."

"Tepper just handed me a change in venue motion," he said handing Cohen the paperwork. "Brooke didn't say anything about this last night."

"It's news to me," Cohen said as the pair moved towards the prosecutors table. "But, we anticipated something like this - Brooke already has spoken to DA Jackowicz. If push comes to shove, your Murder One charge trumps our conspiracy charge. We will support a change of venue for all charges to be tried in Manhattan, if we have to."

McCoy gave Cohen a satisfied nod as they sat .

"Have you spoken to Prescott this morning?'

Cohen gave the other man a wily glance.

"I make it a point not to poke the bear until she's cooled off or until there are witnesses present."

McCoy chuckled quietly as he leaned over, as he pulled something out of the inside pocket of his jacket.

"Ah, the bear said to give you this."

Cohen glanced down, his face taking on the shade of a mild sunburn, as he read the words inscribed on the photo of McCoy.

"I guess this is just the start of pay back."

"What were you thinking last night?"

Cohen met McCoy eyes and replied with surprising candor, "One day you'll buy me a $25.00 shot of vodka, and I'll fill in the blanks on Brooke and myself. Sufficed to say, I liked what I saw when you two were together."

"All rise," the judges clerk announced."Court is now is session, the Honroable Judge Harold Ellis presiding."

The urbane man wearing a black robe, open in the front exposing a yellow polo shirt and navy Bermuda shorts took his seat behind the bench, motioning for court to be seated.

Judge Harry Ellis looked the file in front of him over briefly before turning his attention to the court.

"Good morning Ms. Weaver. Welcome back to Suffolk county. I trust you flight was a pleasant one?"

Weaver smiled uncertainly replying in the affirmative.

The judge gave her a frosty smile.

"Normally, this court wouldn't give a defendant who fled this jurisdiction the courtesy of a Saturday bail hearing. However, your attorneys brief has outlined the extraordinary circumstances that caused said flight. That, coupled with your willingness to voluntarily return to this jurisdiction, gives me cause to give you the benefit of the doubt, and hear your request for bail this morning."

"Thank you, your honor," Weaver said contritely.

"Mr. Cohen. People's recommendation for bail in this matter?"

"Your honor," Cohen said as he stood. "While the People respect the court's desire to avoid the mistakes previously made in New York county regarding Ms. Weaver, the People believe Ms. Weaver returned to this jurisdiction, not out of her desire to 'clear her name and see justice done'," he said reading from his legal pad. "But because the defendant was well aware the Helena's Sheriff's office was in route serve her with an extradition warrant, to answer charges in New York county-"

"Which were dropped when it was discovered Ms. Weaver had been wrongfully accused of the murder of Charles Dillon," Tepper countered. "You 're honor, the Manhattan DA 's office has charged Brock Stoddard in the murder of Charles Dillon. Both Mr. Cohen and Mr. McCoy know that currently, there are no charges against my client in New York county, thus making their extradition warrant invalid."

Judge Ellis motioned to McCoy who stood.

"What about it Mr. McCoy? What interest does New York county have at this time, in the defendant?"

"Your honor," McCoy began as he removed a file from his satchel handing it to the clerk. "at this time, Mr. Tepper is correct. However. Monday morning my office will be seeking an indictment for Murder One for Ms. Weaver. It is due to the defendant's history and her access to considerable funds that make flight a very real risk, New York county urges the court to remand Ms. Weaver without bail."

"Your, honor Mr. McCoy's request is outrageous," Tepper said heatedly, as he handed the clerk another file." Your court isn't a branch of the NYPD…your county jail is not a gulag, if you will, to keep defendants until the state can concoct evidence to charge my client. Citing _Draper_, _Critter_, and most recently _Ali_, the law is clear. Bail should be decided solely on the charges before your honor his morning."

"Your honor, -" McCoy began.

Ellis impatiently waved at McCoy as he pulled glasses from his shirt pocket and opened the files.

"Thank you Mr. McCoy, you may be seated. Just a moment," Ellis said exchanged one file for another. "Mr. Cohen, I am correct in assuming the indictment has been amended to include a count of stalking a public official and illegal wiretapping, in addition to the conspiracy charge?'

"Grand Jury amended yesterday, your honor."

The judge nodded looking back up from the files.

"Mr. McCoy, I believe your concerns regarding a former defendant seeking you out, by your account without solicitation by yourself are valid. I symapthize, as any one serving public office would given these troubling times - but, I do agree with Mr. Tepper. The Suffolk county charges are serious, but not serious enough to warrant holding this defendant without bail. Be-"

"Your honor-"

"Mr. Cohen, you know better," Ellis said sharply. "I can only rule on bail based on the charges before me, not charges that may or not be made by another body at sometime in the future. Defendant is subject to one million dollars bail, cash or bond-"

"On a conspiracy count-"Tepper began stunned.

"Mr. Tepper, in this court then I'm speaking counsel on _both_ sides of the aisle remains _silent_. Ms. Weaver is accused of stalking a public official- I take that charge very seriously. One million, passport to be surrendered and a restraining order is to be issued.," Ellis said turning his attention to Weaver. "Ms. Weaver, if you come within five hundred feet of Mr. McCoy for purposes that are not related to your trial or future charges in New York county, you will be in violation of the TRO. Your bail will be forfeited and you will be arrested - stay away from Mr. McCoy am I clear?"

Brooke Prescott was speaking on the phone when her office door opened. She motioned for the two men to come in as she furiously wrote on the yellow legal pad beside her. McCoy took a seat on the edge of her desk, faintly smiling at the organized clutter reminiscent of his own desk.

"Coffee," Cohen asked as he loosened his tie, tossing his blue suit jacket on the coat rack by the door.

McCoy shook his head. As Cohen busied himself with the coffee maker on the other side of the room, McCoy dropped his satchel on the nearest chair in front of the desk and discreetly watched Prescott as she continued her phone conversation. His irritation with Judge Ellis's ruling temporarily forgotten, as he took notice of how desirable she looked with her hair in an up do, the pomegranate colored suit jacket open revealing a light tan shell.

"…right. Got it. You've got my fax number?…Good - yes, he's right here….I'll tell him. Thank you again Detective Green," Prescott said smiling up at McCoy, as she placed the receiver in its cradle. "Good news. Your homicide detectives found the trunk Weaver took with her the night Hawthorne died."

"It's been in Manhattan the whole time? How long before they have a forensics report," McCoy asked intently.

"Detective Green put a rush on it with your lab. Apparently, it was up further down the shore from where Hawthorne's body was found. Wound up in a homeless camp under the George Washington bridge. Green'll call you as soon as he hears anything. How'd it go in court?"

Cohen joined the pair and summarized the proceedings.

"I assume that's where Weaver is now - posting bail?"

Cohen nodded.

"It shouldn't take long. The clerk will call you when they're done."

"Unless Jack has an objection, why don't you head out Jake? I can go through the questioning on my own - go enjoy what's left of your Saturday."

"Jack?"

"We've got it covered," McCoy said reaching out to the coat rack and tossing Cohen his jacket. "I'll fill Brooke in on the change of venue motion."

McCoy extended his hand.

"Good luck with your Grand Jury Monday, " Cohen said grasping the hand firmly. "A pleasure working with you Jack - I hope we'll see more of you in the future?"

Prescott shook her head as she took a discarded piece of paper off of her desk crumpling then, playfully launching it at the departing attorney.

"I'll be calling you this evening, regarding our unfinished business," she said menacingly as the door closed.

"You have no business looking so beautiful, when you expect me to me to be on my best behavior," McCoy said leaning across the desk to kiss Prescott chastely on the cheek.

"If Tepper was successful in gaining a change of venue to your side of the bridge, perhaps my expectations regarding your behavior will change," Prescott said with a grin.

"Come on Brooke, you know you want it -"McCoy joked. He paused laughing at the expression on Prescott's face. "Meaning the chance to prosecute Weaver for crimes committed in your jurisdiction, of course.We lost on bail, but Ellis was firm on jurisdiction - crimes committed in Suffolk county will be tried in Suffolk county - Tepper's argument about future charges cut both ways with Ellis."

"I'm not surprised," Prescott said somberly, "and you're right - I do want jurisdiction over crimes committed in my backyard. At least old Harry didn't buckle on that. How'd it go with you and Weaver?"

McCoy shrugged.

"Pretty much the way I expected it would. I guess my dealings with Diana have left me pretty jaded," McCoy replied frankly. "Samantha Weaver and I had sex, but we weren't intimate. Can you understand that, Brooke?"

Before she could respond the phone rang.

"Major Crimes, Prescott… thanks," Prescott looked up at McCoy. "Time to go. Oh Jack - about that trunk - since that evidence has absolutely no bearing on current charges and Mr. Tepper's made it clear were he's only intererested 'current charges'today, I assume were in agreement the trunk is a need to know topic? No reason to get Tepper's boxers in a knot until you have those lab results, right?"

McCoy smiled in understanding as he grabbed his satchel.

"No reason what so ever. Maybe over lunch we could discuss your views on 'exculpatory evidence', as well?"


	31. Questions and Answers

When McCoy and Prescott walked into the conference room Tepper introduced the two women. As she shook Samantha Weaver's hand, Prescott couldn't help but scrutinize the other woman. With or without her clothes on, Samantha Weaver exuded a command presence. Cool, detached, a woman obviously comfortable under pressure. A woman who in fact, thrived on pressure.

"I'm surprised to see that you're still her, Jack," Weaver said. "You don't honestly plan to pursue this ridiculous theory that I killed Diana Hawthorne?"

"We have you on tape. We have your fingerprints at the crime scene. What's ridiculous is this fiction that you 'lost' the trunk you removed the body in."

"As my attorney already explained, I lost my luggage on the bus to Montana. I've filed a claim with the bus company. As for killing Diana, I went to see her that night to collect my personal effects. We spoke for approximately a half hour. She told me about her arrest . When she told me she had you and I video taped, in order to gain some sort of revenge on you…well, I was horrified ," Weaver said evenly. "I had no idea she had been in a relationship with you. I was appalled and I made that clear. I had no intention of involving myself in anything that could send me back to prison. As I've said before, I'm pragmatic not vindictive."

The two prosecutors eyes met each of them amused.

"Well done, Ms. Weaver," Prescott said turning her attention to the defendant. "How do you explain your presence at Mr. McCoy's residence, as well as your meeting with Ms. Hawthorne immediately after leaving said residence?"

Weaver sat back in her chair, appraising Prescott before responding.

"You've seen what is on this disc, Miss Prescott?"

"It's Mrs. And yes, I've seen the disc."

"Hummm," Weaver said her gaze dropping briefly to Prescott's bare ring finger. "Then it should be obvious why I was at Mr. McCoy's residence. Mr. McCoy took me to dinner and invited me to spend the night with him."

Prescott nodded as she slipped her glasses on, skimming a page in the legal file in front of her.

"According to the matre de at _McGuire's _restaurant in Ocean Beach, the reservation was in your name. Witnesses in the dining room that night have stated you, not Mr. McCoy appeared to be the aggressor in as far as physical contact being initiated -"

"And I have a witness that will state that he saw Mr. McCoy take Ms. Weaver's hand in the restaurant. Another that saw Mr. McCoy pull Ms. Weaver to him outside the restaurant. Mrs. Prescott, I don't see what difference-" Tepper began impatiently.

"The difference is, Ms. Weaver has stated Mr. McCoy initiated this - encounter. The bartender at the _Island Mermaid _will testify when Ms. Weaver approached Mr. McCoy at the bar he returned her drink and walked out - wouldn't even speak to her. Doesn't sound like the beginnings of the romantic rendezvous Ms. Weaver pretends it to be."

"Really, Mrs. Prescott," Weaver said smoothly, "When Diana was working on my defense for the Dillon murder, she filled me in on Mr. McCoy's history. Andrew here, tells me the criminal justice system is a hot bed of office gossip - I'm sure _you_ are well acquainted with Jack's track record with subordinates. Is it really so hard to believe he would make the leap from sleeping with assistants to pursuing a former defendant?"

"One he convicted of murder," Prescott countered skeptically. "Yeah - it's quite a leap - or should I say load?"

"The relevant point here being," Tepper added firmly, "is that my client was an invited guest that night that had no knowledge of any recording devices being planted in Mr. McCoy's residence."

"How far do you plan to take this farce," McCoy demanded.

"To an acquittal," Weaver replied bluntly.

"An acquittal," Prescott said with amazement, closing her file. "Mr. Tepper, why are you wasting my time? I came here to review the charges with your client in the hopes of negotiating a plea - if not obtain a confession-"

"A _confession_," Weaver exclaimed, exchanging her cool facade for condescension. "Your chances of hearing a confession from me, are about as good as you confessing the true nature of your involvement with 'Mr. McCoy'."

"Samantha, as your attorney -," Tepper began sharply.

"If you want to continue being my attorney, you'll keep quiet," Weaver snapped.

"We're done," McCoy announced brusquely as he stood.

"Meaning?" Prescott unflinchingly pressed, keeping hers eyes locked on the other woman.

"Did you start sleeping with him before or after you viewed that disc?"

"Is that what you did before you slept with Julia Veloso," Prescott asked cordiality, leaning forward putting herself close enough to Weaver to feel the other woman's breath. "Did you view a video of her 'work' before you decided she was worth ten grand a month to fuck on demand?"

Weaver 's eyes flashed with fury before she leaned back in her chair and laughed.

"Maybe if I had done my homework where Julia was concerned, she wouldn't have been able to set me up for Dillon's murder."


	32. A Unwelcome Guest

"I don't know whether I should be impressed or appalled," McCoy said resting his suit jacket on the chairback and loosening his tie.

Prescott raised her glass in a mock salute. By the time McCoy and Prescott had left the criminal courts building both, were ready for lunch. Although _Teller's Chophouse_ was a five minute walk from the building, the early afternoon heat coupled with the traditional summer humidity, that had left them both damp and parged.

"Whatever you decide, I found out what I wanted to know," she said draining most of the ice tea from her glass.

"You mean besides the fact there's a snowball chance Weaver will plead out?"

"Did you see the look in her eyes when I brought up her girlfriend," Prescott said intently. "I've read the transcript of the Dillon trial, Jack. All that talk about Veloso and Weaver having a 'functional' relationship - that it was just sex? It's a crock - I know what I saw today. There's more to it than that. If I were you, I'd take another look at the Dillon case."

McCoy nodded.

"Even with the evidence against Brock Stoddard, Weaver walking on the Dillon murder hasn't felt right from the start."

"Connie and I have been emailing information to each other on both my charges and the Hawthorne murder. We were hoping we could get all of the pieces to fit together. The evidence against Stoddard indicates an affair with Veloso. My bet is that Weaver found out about the affair and decided to make Veloso and Stoddard pay-"

"by having Veloso eliminate Dillon," McCoy added. "Convince Julia to do the dirty work and eliminate Weaver's blackmailer, then pin the crime on Veloso and Stoddard. Maybe. But what about Diana's letter? It implicates Stoddard in the murder?"

Prescott shrugged her shoulders.

"Who knows. Maybe Weaver lied to Hawthorne. Planted evidence? Maybe Stoddard did plan to kill Dillon and Weaver just had the same thing in mind - it is Weaver's .38 that's missing. Your friends at the 2 7 can fill in the blanks."

McCoy pulled his glasses from his shirt pocket and began scanning the menu.

"I'll give Green a call after lunch. I'm still not sure letting things get personal was wise."

"I just gave you your theory of the crime for the Dillon case and you're saying I acted unprofessionally," Prescott asked in disbelief.

"Brooke, all I'm saying is she baited you-"

"and you think I swallowed the bait," she said shortly.

McCoy snorted, setting the menu down.

"Brooke you put me off last night because you didn't think you could question Samantha Weaver appropriately if we -"

"Did it occur to you hearing 'no' once in awhile might do you some good," Prescott said tossing her napkin on the table. "Is this is a preview of the 'real bastard' you can be when you don't get what you want?"

"Your words or Ben Stone's," McCoy asked hotly.

"Accurate no doubt, whoever the source," she said standing. "I'll have Green's report messengered to your place."

"Oh Brooke, don't be dramatic," he said arrogantly.

Prescott picked up her water glass and held it ominously before swallowing it's contents.

"Don't tempt me to show you what dramatic is counselor," she said before storming off.

"Oh Christ," McCoy muttered as he signaled for the waiter.

By the time she slammed her office door, Prescott was dripping with perspiration. She unbuttoned the suit jacket stripping it off. She was rummaging through her desk drawer when her door opened.

"If you're here to apologize -," she snapped as she pulled a bottle of water from the drawer.

"Actually, I thought I'd save my groveling for Monday morning."

"Jake," she sputtered as she dropped into her chair. "Why are you back?"

Jake Cohen took a seat across from her.

"Forgot the Ryerson deposition - wanted to look it over again before Monday's motion hearing. I didn't expect to find you lurking. Figured you'd be long gone with your Manhattan Maverick."

"Ya know what Jake, the next time you want to play matchmaker pick on my brother," she said patting the holstered revolver, "or suffer the consequences."

Cohen sighed.

"You've had you first spat," he said teasingly. "At least you'll have fun making up."

"You have no idea," she said defiantly. "The man is an idiot."

"Enlighten me," he said putting his feet up on the desk.

"Well, did you," Cohen asked as Prescott concluded her account.

"What? You know me better than that. The fact the woman is a vindictive opportunist that used her body to extract revenge and then had the nerve to question my professional ethics had nothing to do with it," she said obstinately, as she tossed the empty plastic bottle in the trash can. "I handed the man motive and a solid theory of the crime. He had no business questioning my judgment."

"Right - nothing to do with it," he said sarcastically as he shook his head. "Alright - let's say you were the essence of professionalism - McCoy's actually worked a case with you for what - thirty seconds before this confrontation? He doesn't know your style. Obviously, the man made an honest mistake. You being, the gracious and forgiving woman that you are, should be able to see your way to taking the high road - if that's what this is about."

"Don't start with me Jake," she warned as she pushed his feet off the desk top. "I've got work to do, let me do it in peace."

"Brooke, you forced me back into the world after Allen died. Kept me from me wallowing in grief until I was ready to accept that there was life without him. If you hadn't hounded me so relentlessly... it's time for me to return the favor," he said quietly.

"Jake, it wasn't a favor - you know I loved Allen. I love you. I just did what a friend does. You have stood by me unwavering the last five years. When Sam died…you've gone above and beyond for me more times than I can count, "she said reaching across the desk and taking his hand. "But this...it's not like I've locked myself away since-"

"Really, Brooke. You've gone through the motions and dated - what half a dozen men - that were totally wrong for you. Non threatening, very safe. Easy to keep at arms length."

"Why won't you let this drop," she said exasperated. "Why are you so intent on Jack McCoy? If you think he's so fabulous, you pursue him!"

Cohen grinned.

"Don't think I wouldn't if I thought for a moment, I had a chance with him. Come on Brooke - the man's been married twice, he's diificult, flawed - just like you. But, he's smart and funny and he's as taken with you as you are with him. I haven't seen you as animated and alive since before Sam died. Even if this is just a passing fancy, you need to experience it."

McCoy spent most of the ferry ride back to Ocean Beach and all of the short motorcycle ride back from the dock to his house muttering. He was still talking to himself as he unlocked the front door, hurriedly punching his alarm code, unsuccessfully trying to reach the phone before it stopped ringing.

He cursed softly as he picked up the receiver, hearing only a dial tone. McCoy punched the play button on the machine on the counter that separated the kitchen and living room. Tossing his tie and suit jacket on a bar stool, placing the helmet on the counter, he walked into the kitchen. Picking up a glass from the counter he reached for the Dewar's bottle beside the phone.

"When are you going to learn," he muttered as the machine played.

"You have five new messages," the mechanical voice announced. He listened as he drank. One message from his daughter about their plans for the following weekend, next a call from Green retelling the information Prescott had passed on, a call from Arthur Branch reminding him of a charity dinner McCoy would be replacing Branch at, a call from Jeffries - Fontana Investigations stating the alarm system seemed to be down and that the repairman would be out Sunday morning, finally a call from Prescott notifying him the lab work was back and on its way to him. McCoy played the last message back twice, listening carefully as he tried to read Prescott's tone.

He swore again, annoyed with himself. He thought about calling Prescott's office then discounted the idea, figuing once the fax came in, she would have left the office for home. Damned if he'd call Prescott at home. At least, not right away.

"Relationships…what the hell was I thinking," he said out load as he took his drink and moved towards the bedroom.

As he walked he began unbuttoning the dress shirt, as he considered a shower. He stripped the shirt off as he walked through the bedroom door, stopping in his tracks.

"Sit down and keep your hands where I can see them."


	33. Final Shot

"I see your gun turned up," McCoy said, his eyes on the barrel of the Smith and Wesson .38 as his shirt dropped to the floor.

"I said 'sit down'. There on the bed,"Weaver demanded, waiting until McCoy complied.

"Planning to add another count of murder to the indictment?"

"Afraid so, Jack."

"Killing me won't make the charges disappear.."

"No, but it will buy me time. Conspiracy and the lesser counts - Tepper can deal those down, in time. As for the murder charges, a dead District Attorney will be focus of your office. Who ever replaces you will make finding your killer their top priority, not the killer of a former ADA gone bad and a corrupt corporate lawyer. Besides," she added coldly, "after all the trouble you've been, I'll enjoy putting a bullet in that thick head of yours, much more than I enjoyed sleeping with you."

"Who do you think the police will suspect, if you kill me? We just met at the court-"

"I 've read most of your cases, Jack. I'm not the only person you've prosecuted that would like to see you dead. Given my accquittal, I'm sure I'm way down on your list of enemies."

McCoy tried to remain calm. To slow the pounding of his heart. His mind flashed to another gun...a shooting...the courthouse steps...Leland Barnes...

"Any troubles you have, Ms. Weaver you brought on yourself."

"'Ms. Weaver'? Given all we've been through together you can call me Samantha, Jack, "she said with a joyless laugh. "As for my troubles, they began with a murder conviction based on dislike and ignorance. Thanks to a prosecutor that was too driven to worry about hard evidence."

McCoy let her talk, trying to buy time. Trying to think of a weapon, a way to distract her …trying to keep her talking until he could think of something.

"Just because I didn't have a smoking gun, doesn't mean you didn't have Charles Dillon killed," he countered. "You did have him killed didn't you? When you decided to punish your unfaithful lover?"

Weaver 's eyes widened in surprise.

"So you finally figured it out, Jack. Too bad you didn't connect the dots during my trial - my conviction might not have been overturned and you wouldn't be about to die for the sloppy job you did."

McCoy half listened as Weaver recounted the murder. He thought about grabbing for the gun, but she was keeping her distance.

"I put you in jail, so I deserve to die? What about Diana? She was your partner. Your friend. Why did you kill her?"

"My _friend_," she said scornfully. "The woman that manipulated me into being recorded having sex? With you? Like a common whore? Then it takes her less than twenty four hours to get caught ? I gave up what was left of my self respect for _nothing_…the worst part is, when I confronted her…told her it was time to cut our losses, she wouldn't let it go. You think I wanted to punish _my_ lover, Jack? If you only knew how badly Diana wanted to destroy you…"

McCoy glanced at the clock by the bed. He'd kept her talking almost an hour. He could see her hand was getting tired of holding the heavy metal. He'd mentally rejected every option that had come to mind. He knew it was either rush her and die or wait for her to execute him. Either way, he didn't see himself getting out alive.

When the doorbell rang, both of them jumped. McCoy moved forward, but Weaver held the gun up. She put a finger to her lips.

The bell rang several more times. Finally an feminine voice called out.

"Jack, it's Brooke. We need to talk…." Pause. Then a more pressing, irritated, "Open the damned door, Jack. I have your fax and the money I owe you."

McCoy tried to keep his face expressionless, praying Prescott would go before Weaver thought about using her: Either to toy with him or deciding one more murder count wouldn't make a whole lot of difference if she got caught. Weaver motioned for him to move into the living room and McCoy felt his stomach lurch.

_Grow up, McCoy. _Prescott thought as she stuffed the fax and a wad of paper bills into McCoy's mail box. _Is this high school?….The bike is on the damn driveway. It's obvious you're here…Fine. I can tell Jake I tried. It's over. Done. The end._

As she turned from the porch, Prescott unconsciously looked up at the security camera. She stopped suddenly. Prescott glanced at the front door again and started quickly towards her car.

"Well, it looks like it's Mrs. Prescott's is a lucky lady," Weaver said keeping the gun on McCoy as she watched Prescott's car disappear down the street.

Weaver silently looked at McCoy for several minutes, as if she were comtemplating something. McCoy knew Diana Hawthorne had been killed with a blow to the head, in a struggle. Charles Dillon had taken a bullet, but not by Weaver's hand. What had Julia Veloso said at trial? _Samantha didn't have the courage to take care of the problem herself..._

"Tell me something, Jack," she said finally. "Was I right? Are you and the formidable Mrs. Prescott paramours?"

"I know Brooke through her late husband. We're colleagues, nothing more," he said carefully, relieved to know Prescott wouldn't be dragged into this nightmare.

"I'm surprised," she said thoughtfully as she moved away from the window. "You both have the same self righteous arrogance-"

"How could I even think about another woman after having you," he said snidely.

As Weaver replied, McCoy thought he heard what sounded like a lock, the bolt softly sliding back. The sound came from the kitchen. Weaver heard it as well, her gaze shifting towards the sound. McCoy lunged for the gun, Weaver firing into the air as she went backwards.

McCoy fell with her, grabbing at the gun as he heard another gun cock behind him.

"Drop it or your dead," Prescott commanded as she pointed her revolver at Weaver, trying to get a clean shot. "Drop the gun, Samantha!"

Weaver looked at the other woman, then back at McCoy. In a sudden burst of strength Weaver wrestled free from McCoy. She staggered, raising her gun towards McCoy.

Prescott fired until her gun was empty, the first shot sending Weaver back against the front window, blood oozing from what was left of her left temple.

McCoy sat froze for what seemed like an eternity, staring at the gun in Prescott's hand until it slipped from her grasp. His ears ringing from the soundof gunfire. His horrified gaze shifted. Prescott's face was drained of color, her eyes saucerlike, as she stared at Weaver's lifeless body.

McCoy struggled to get up, reaching Prescott in time for her to collaspse into his arms.

_That's it! Thanks to all of you that were thoughtful enough to review. You made this story a joy to write & inspired me to keep going. Since I've got a few loose ends to wrap up, sequel will be forth coming._

_Figured I be different and disclaim at the end: They belong to Wolf. Not me. If they were mine, Brooke Prescott would be the new EADA, but alas that will never be. Te only things that are mine are the original story ideas and original characters._


End file.
